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THE 



POETICAL WORKS 

. OF 

W.W. FISHER. 

CONSISTING OF 

THE NATIONAL GLORIA, 

AND A 

SELECTION OF POEMS. 



IN EULOGY OF THE MOST PROMINENT NATURAL SCENERY IN 

AMERICA, AND OF THE INSTITUTIONS OF LIBERTY, IN 

MEMORY OF THE ONE HUNDREDTH ANNIVERSARY 

OF OUR NATIONAL INDEPENDENCE. 



^ciiti|uuial l^ifitiom 






PHILADELPHIA : 
PUBLISHED FOR THE AUTHOR BY 

CLAXTON, REMSEN & HAFFELFINGER, 
624, 626 & 628 Market Street. 

iS;6. 



76 1^7^ 

■•'7 



Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1876, by 

W. W. FISHER, 

in the Office cf the Librarian of Congress at Washington. 



h^- 



^-#1 i * J. FAGAN 4 gON, 

"VW^i STEREOTYPE FOUNDEES, 

"^ ^^ PHILADELPHIA. fcc; 



Selheimer &. Moore, Printers, 
501 Chestnut :L"trcet. 




IN this Centennial Poem, I purpose to portray the 
dream of the average Young America, — proud- 
spirited and patriotic, who falls to sleep upon some 
acclivity by the sea, with the murmur of the wave, the 
ringing of the bells of Freedom, and the roar of the 
cannon dying upon his ears. If the vision of his 
country, its wars, its triumphs, its natural scenery, etc., 
is broken, fitful, and interrupted, it describes, to my 
notion, what such a dream would be, especially when 
experienced by a youth full of fire and unhaltered im- 
agination. 

With the Gloria, I submit a selection of miscella- 
neous poems, of my very finest feeling and deepest 
thought. 

The entire volume is respectfully dedicated to the 

Centennial of 1876, as a token of enthusiastic devotion 

to mv country. 

W. W. CALEO FISHER, 

The Author, 




PAGE 

THE NATIONAL GLORIA . ' . . . .13 

Canto 1 13 

Canto II 29 

Canto III 43 

Canto IV 56 

Canto V. 80 

Canto VI 95 

Canto VII 109 

Canto VIII. 141 

Last Days 194 

MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

Spirit Confidante 199 

Nevermore 202 

Song of Love 204 

Worn Out 205 

Whispers OF A Doomed Spirit .... 208 

Sylvan M1NSTREI.S 211 

To Eva .213 

River of Life . . * 214 

Ruby Lips 216 

A Spectrum 217 

To Paxi : Adieu 219 

Showers of Crystals ...... 220 



Xll 



CONTENTS. 



Beautiful Dreamer 

Waiting at the Gate . 

Beneath yon Clay . 

Shadowed Tablatures 

Waiting by the River 

Delights of Solitude . 

In Starlight 

Moonlight .... 

Golden Cloud of Imagery 

The Bark OF Life 

A Casket .... 

The Haunted Dwelling 

A Dirge .... 

Remembered 

Constellation of Beauties 

Strands of Pearls 

Passing Castles 

Early Frosts 

Stream of Time 

Send Love's Message . 

Aspiration 

Dreaming Beauty 

Jessie Lee . 

Among the Stars . 

Autumn Winds . 

Voices in the Night 

The Prophet Monitor 

Sounds Elysian 

Sable Hearse . 

Ladies' Toilet 

Ode to an Unknown Tongue 

The Land of Loves 

Lulu 




THE NATIONAL GLORIA. 

A Broken and Desultory Dream. 

■ CANTO I. 

O'ER vernal glebe the burdened cannon roars, 
And groans the deep-mouthed thunder to 
the sea! 
While shake the walls of cit and citadel, 

Then rolls the pealing anthems of the free 
O'er rugged hills and vales where glories dwell, 

And on proud pinion loft the eagle soars. 
Bearing the trophies o'er the blooming dell : 
Then music from the mountain horn ! Then 
pours 
And peals aloud the nation's freeborn bell ! 

Nor you, ye lofty minarets and domes, 
Defying sylvan with thy towering heads, 

Or snow-capped mountain, midnight, starless caves, 
Escape the blow whose deadly mandate sheds 

Rebounding boom above the patriot graves ! 
2 13 



14 THE NATIONAL GLORIA. 

Nor you, ye spires and fiery, glistering tomes, 
Or monuments arreared above the braves, 

Escape the mortar's thunder as it roams 
Where Freedom's famed and starry banner waves. 

The flashing swords, the clashing din of arms, 

The courser's hoof upon the gory plain. 
The grave battalions 'neath the sun's fierce lamp, 

The battle-field — the blank look of the slain 
Where powdered air hangs with nocturnal damp : — 

We sing and sound the bleak and dread alarms. 
And catch our strains from yonder dreary camp : — 

Then weave a nobler canto — sing life's charms. 
Yet, hist ! we hear a nation's dreaded tramp ! 

The moaning echoes of the mystic wold 

Go up like wails of death above the wild; 
And weird music mingling with the strain 

Of forest murmuring, ring undefiled 
O'er whistling crannies even to the plain — 

Go up like dirge's sorrows long enrolled 
On scrolls that read of inly burning pain, 

Whose umber shadows gather manifold. 
But vapor-like weep out their trace again. 

The dim-lit night ! The twilight on the sea ! 
And then the moonbeam peeping o'er the hill : 
Oh ! views majestic do enchant the eye ! 



THE NATIONAL GLORIA. 1 5 

Oh ! sweet dew-drops of evening that extil 
Their glist'ring balls out from celestial sky ! 

The dripping eves, the tinkling sounds that be 
Like angel footsteps as they pass us by, 

Sounding their jewel chords of euphony, 
Ye ! hear their murmurs softly rise on high. 

The moon is gone ! A dark cloud intervenes 

To chase the raylets wrapping glyn and mound, 
And a lone night of blackness by the wave . 

With many a murmur and returning sound, 
Like troubled callings from a lone-lain grave. 

Like spectrums who inhabit where careens 
The ripples of the deep, chained like a slave 

Unto its doleful song and dreaded scenes, 
It howls like souls torn by grim ghoul-like knave ! 

Of»Fame I dream ! Of living heroes done, 

Of earth that be immortal to the deed 
That reared them to the glory of a name : 

I dream of plains where armies cease to bleed, 
Torn by the balls from cannon's fiercest flame 

Of deadly contests on the fields begun, 
Abated troops that fell by artful aim, 

Of victories by simple struggles won, 
And Freedom's flag that waves — a nation's fame. 

The glory of the Nation ! And her clime. 
Her groves, her fountains, and her creeping 
streams 
That fill the mighty rivers to the vast ! 



1 6 THE NATIONAL GLORIA. 

The rolling mountains where the eaglet screams, 
And wild hogs moan amid the falling mast, 

Where the sun peeps behind these peaks sublime 
Upon her present beauty : where the past 

Planted around those rocks the trees of time, 
Where patriots bowed, these bow to them at last. 



And of the boast of her bold countrymen, 

The level fields, her thrift and looming soil, 
Her growing parks of grandeur, and the dales 

Around whose shrubs and trees the wild vines 
coil. 
Where soft and summer zephyr still prevails. 

Sweet to the ear such music comes again 
As thro' the piiies whisper the gentle gales 

With an euphonious sound — Lo ! from the glen 
A hollow music ! 't is the deep cave's wails : 

Of Fame I dream, and patriot fathers gone, 

Who lit the banner with the stripe and star. 
And laid for freedom her foundation stone. 

Around which nations gather from afar — 
Hailing the birth of liberty with tone 

Of anthems sweet, while moves the army on. 
That hopeful body coming from each zone, 

The troop that rear their hamlets on the lawn 
To till the earth, and make that home their own. 



THE NATIONAL GLORIA. 1/ 

Sweet to the memory the living past 

Looms up as bright on hist'ry's noted healm 
As an oasis in a dreary dream : 

Strong be the bands that bind the youthful 
realm : 
The states of power with an eternal seam 

No factions break, nor cannon's boom can blast. 
As long as man beholds the sun's proud beam 

There shall be union ! Binding till the last 
Sun's ray shall die, with unreturning gleam ! 

Now when we look upon the growing green 

Over the valleys stretching far away, 
We see the work of the Creator smile : — 

The pouring rivers glitter to the ray 
Of morn that creeps o'er ocean, to the isle 

Where now our glaring temples may be seen 
To color in the glow, that 'gins to while 

Upon our minarets — our country's sheen 
That shine eterne, no thunder can defile. 

The mind looks from the field unto the ocean, 

O'er landscapes beautiful and rivers fair, 
Grasping impulsive every work at hand : 

It lingers by the lakes whose silv'ry glare, 
In their tempestuous moving, do expand 

The wealth of mart continually in motion, 
Lending an aid unto the teeming land 



1 8 THE NATIONAL GLORIA. 

Where dwelleth man, the creature of commotion, 
Building his cit, or musing on the strand. 

Loved are thy dales. Oh, thou America, 

The spicy groves of lasting, living spring, 
Where orchards bloom in splendor ; where the bird 

Carols its morning song, then on the wing 
Departs afar, and is to man unheard. 

'T is there the chiming brooklets steal away, 
Tumbling o 'er rocks in never-ceasing curd ; 

Where opes the morning to most glorious day, 
To God: — the Light ! the Image of His word ! 

Famed are thy lofty hills ! whose icy caps 

Hang glistering upon the earthy rolls 
Bounded beneath the weighty snows where bald, 

Deep bedded, sleep old nature's hoarded knolls : 
Wrapt in the solitude of winters — wall'd 

By snow eternal ! whose sheet still wraps 
Around her freezing cloak, on that install'd, 

While far below, the summer sunshine saps 
Away this berth, yet leaves it there enthrall'd. 

Cool are thy springs ! Thy many fountains pour 
Their nectar thro' the stretching meadows wide, 

Where grows the water-lily by the stream, 
Nodding unto its beauty in the tide 

That moves at ease its quaint translucent beam ! 



THE NATIONAL GLORIA. 1 9 

Then, as we follow on, we hear it roar 
Over a cataract — with broken gleam 

Bubbling and writhing, as it tumbles o'er 
The rock, or sinks like some unheeded dream. 

Thy massive stones that rear a precipice, 

Or form into a steep unshook by age. 
Seem yielding now unto the car of man : 

He leaves this image on the artist's page, 
But strikes incessant — wheels his fiery van 

And breaks the fortress of the cliff, which is 
The battlement of time : man's might shall scan 

And break away; his name is part of this. 
Carved deep in rocks, since hoary age began. 

I still am happier in some lone dell. 

Or in the garden with the morning-glory, 
Along the path that leads to some fair spot 

Where one can meditate upon his story, 
In solitude to be all but forgot ; 

Wakened at length by some sweet music's swell. 
Whose strains breathe virtue to his humble lot. 

Or clasped by some old friend who came to tell 
Fame is to thee, thou hast not lived for naught. 

But as we wing from verdant shore to shore. 
With lightning speed in Vision of the Realm, 

Beholding all the beauty of the earth ! 

The hick'ry bows, and 'neath us bends the elm 

In the big forest and of stately birth, 



20 THE NATIONAL GLORIA. 

By the bright rivers where the waters pour 
As fleet along as swing our vision forth ! 

To view the majesty, and to adore 
The broad landscape that yields a crowning worth. 

There yet may stand a prided city grown 

Fabled for naught but recent history 
Of golden age and hours enchanted, too, 

Which hath not known the price of victory, 
Nor sought for " Peace," in dreary day to sue : 

No quaking cannon hath it ever known, 
Nor shattered wall — nor soldier born untrue 

But there it stands a galaxy alone, 
A busy cit, that in a fortnight grew ! 

O'er yonder hill the sun begins to stream, 

Lighting its brow with a still lovelier glow, 
Where sport unchecked the wild and fleety stag : 

High from that hill the purest waters flow, 
Where comes the goat, or drinks the pawing nag : 

There, too, the patriot bird's intensest scream 
Is heard ! — High o'er the hillock's brow the flag 

Lifts its assuming folds with gentle beam. 
Fanned by the breeze that whistles thro' the crag! 

There may be known a stead to some one dear 
Whose hamlet humble greets the restless eye. 

They that are born to bloom and fade alone. 
Apart from turmoil — but in the same sky 

Imagination rears their castle throne ! 



THE NATIONAL GLORIA. 21 

Hope whispers of a better coming year, 
When stores of wealth and honor be their own, 

When the millennium will wipe the tear 
Distress implants on cheeks of beauty blown. 

But by that waste so beautifully old 

There may be many joys to us unread : 
The very boast of some beloved heart 

Whose care of life by vague misfortune fled. 
And chose that lonely spot to be a part 

Of his weak destiny ! His little fold 
Beneath that roof look up to him and start 

The cries of pity as the wind grows cold : — 
He bears the blow, he cannot warmth impart. 

The comfortless, the weak, the mightless arm 

Has one companion in the world of woe 
Who, like a wrestling, thrusted vine, in vain 

Clings to the wreck, however quelled by foe, 
Or shook by poverty, or torn by pain ! 

His very ruin seems to be a charm 
Known so to her who falls and clings, and then, 

Ev'n when the bosom ceases to be warm. 
She breeds a spark, and kindles flame again ! 

For such is woman ! Fair her swelling groves, 
Her portals, her piazzas ! — And her breast. 

Where love is centred, is most heav'nly fair, 
Cherished by man, where infantine his rest 

Was watched by one who kissed at every stare, 



22 THE NATIONAL GLORIA. 

Though blighted in her hopes — yet still she 
loves 
And fondles with the creature of her care : — 

Turns him to light, if she that light approves, 
And tracks him on, to glory or despair ! 

But why thus tarry by her blooming stores, 

Unharness'd by her sweet and music tone, 
Entrapped by her enfolding arms of snow? 

Or why rove o'er the mighty world alone 
In pomp, to make her wonder at the glow 

Of a heroic name ? All earth adores 
The little flicker of a feeble show. 

Which is but vain ! How sad such weakness 
gores 
A Christian breast, that shrinks at worldly woe ! 

Look at yon glancing minaret afar! 

Fame's towering image in the mountain sun 
Arrears and grows mysterious by Age, 

Which brands the nightly course, when all is 
done. 
Upon old history's expanding page ; 

There, too, the youth beholds his prided star 
Upon the frontal, lighting up the stage, 

When he, aboard Time's swift and speedy car. 
Defies the world, or seeks his strength to gauge. 



THE NATIONAL GLOBIA. ' 23 

There point the fanes into the snowy cloud — • 

The steel rod dares the lightning from his home, 
Or laughs into the storm that whistles by ; 

Rearing like serpent o 'er some solemn dome, 
It sends its glistening spear into the sky. 

Now rolls along the west the thunder loud. 
To shoot its flashing fire from on high — 

Parting the fog, the mist, and darkening shroud, 
It strikes the ash and breaks it bodily. 

The cloud goes by : and from the rock-wall'd lane, 

Where tall briers whisper to the zephyrs wild. 
The cony leaps — for this is gentle night. 

High o'er that barrier of huge stone piled 
The noble moon rolls in her golden plight — 

The queen of eve — whose own exulting reign- 
Wooeth more lovers to her holy light 

As years sweep on ; for in her happy train 
Heart beats to heart, mankind's increasing might. 

Or on some barren plain stripped desolate, 

A clutching shrub howls in the evening breeze 
Its wayward notes unto the listless moon. 

Beyond it far grow its companion trees. 
Far from the music of its mournful tone, 

Like to the life of one of early date — 
The tale of him that cannot perish soon. 

Heroic to Kentucky's wild-wood state — 
A bold frontier, a soldier, and a Boone. 



24 THE NATIONAL GLORIA. 

Like to a diamond pebble washed away 

Into a deep of waters, crystal clear, 
Which shines as glorious from its lone abode. 

Like to a comet in the hemisphere 
Amid the stars, it waves the same — a god ! 

By this such noble image take their sway 
To live to man a lasting episode ; 

By this the germ puts forth its beauteous ray 
Nor wastes unseen,— sighs Gray's bemoaning ode. 

But some are happier, amid mankind. 

To gaze upon the formless and the form'd — 
To look into their eyes and there behold 

A spell by which another may be charm'd. 
By some quaint turn more easily felt than told : 

To peer into the vision of the mind. 
Or press the hand, and find if heart were cold, 

Had been my joys. Yet oft the eye is blind, 
The breast decayed that heaves so loft and bold. 

But now my bark rides on the tossing sea, 

Billow'd by tempest winds ; and driven wild, 
Deserted and deserting, must 1 sail 

Over the lashing main. The wind grows wild, 
The ear grows weary at the water's wail ; 

On high the gray sea-bird soars merrily, 
As to divert the mind from things that ail 

The .bosom beating slow : now gaze we free 
On splender gone, and other barriers hail ! 



THE NATIONAL GLORIA. 2$ 

High o'er those waters hangs a frownuig steep — 

Rib-rocked and worn by many a ruthless lash 
At its foundation — -banking back the flood 

Where strikes the wreck of man, with deadly 
crash 
Seeking admittance from the breakers rude 

And the eternal surge, whose aimless leap 
Rolls o'er the hulk in angry beating mood, 

Slashing its bursting bubbles on the heap, 
Which moans, and yields, and floats a battling 
wood. 

The grape-vine dips its barkless arm below 

The wave-worn stone into the moaning tide. 
As if to dally with the nightly lake : 

The screaming hawk sweeps o'er the waters wide. 
Burying itself unseen — as to forsake 

The earth — and with the clouds of heaven go 
To hide its form amid their snowy 'flake, 

Shut from the world where mind but offers woe. 
Invades his perch, and bids his forest shake. 

Fair be thy throne ! I sing the eagle song ; 
Thy airy way, the realm thou dost invade ; 
Thy resting-place of freshest, fanning breeze. 
Whose mountain bears thy nestling and hath 
made 
A home for thee high o 'er the wrangling seas, 
3 



26 THE NATIONAL GLORIA. 

Where crag o'er crag protrudes its dying prong, 
O 'erlooking plain and fen, where wild the trees 

Bow unto thee ; where mighty men may throng 
And speak of thee, who rear'st thy throne to ease. 

And in this clime so gladden'd by the sun 

As fresh and pure as mountain rose may bloom, 
So too the damsel blooms who steals upon 

Its noble crest and seeks the sweet perfume 
Of flowers that by the winding pathway dawn, 

Where the famed huntsman rests upon his gun, 
Or tracks the deer across the swelling plain. 

And where the home-turned flock come, one 
by one, 
When th' livelong day's impressive sun is gone. 

Most Holy Crown ! Health's paradise of youth, 

Thou mystic region beautifully wild, 
Where waving grasses clothe the rugged hill 

Beneath whose juttings sport the zephyrs mild, 
Singing a tenor to the little rill 

Whose gurgling notes keep time with it forsooth, 
While o'er a steep its liquid waters spill ; 

Absorbed at last by nature's unsought booth, 
Or river home, or drank by earth at will ! 

The spirit lingers by the broken scene. 
Where varied forms of beauty fill the dream 
With that which is, or might be, something more 



THE NATIONAL GLORIA. 2/ 

Unto the eye than that which can but seem 
A prided whole, our nation may adore; 

Loving, perhaps, as I do, things serene, 
And drawn from life and living as before, 

The portrait stirr'd the Muse to intervene 
To breathe those sweets, that men may learn of 
yore. 

There is an ivied hamlet, green but old — 

Green with the vine, and fresh to memory' 
By yonder wood — where young the brooklet flows 

As when the parents, urchins blithe in glee, 
Did by its grassy bank at noon repose : 

But where the fountain first its waves unfold 
Unto the light, the thirsting herd now goes. 

Taking the stead where man with joy untold 
Watched high the hawk, or mused on little woes. 

There is a spot where once the cabin stood, 

Rustic and rural, by the gentle slope 
Adown the yard into the murky lane : 

'T was there the patriot parent whispered Hope 
To his beloved as oft and oft again — 

'T was therfe the owlet hooted in the wood, 
The wild fox roved across the tufted main, 

When midnight terror threatened his abode 
By anxious hounds that chased him from the plain. 

Then were to man such joys we cannot now 
Exult in, save by dreams of poesy ; 
We send our longing ideal in the past — 



28 THE NATIONAL GLORIA. 

We know that they were born to Liberty, 
And stood the storms of many a winter's blast ; 

Lived to behold a quell'd and fallen foe, 
To form to ship of state its guiding mast, 

That which withstood the shock of its own blow 
In trying storms of recent battles cast. 

"S'et upon our bleak hills of dread dismay 

Shattered and rent, nor would to darkness yield : 
Now Ceres laughs in blooming bounds of corn. 

That stretch across the battle-ground — the field 
Whose turf by thundering implements was torn. 

But all those horrid scenes have gone away — 
Even the battlements at length are worn. 

And o'er the spot where once was dread affray, 
The sun on hieh there writes celestial Morn ! 



Yet now, fond dreamer, whither dost thou wind? 

To gloat upon the wonder of the dead, 
Or trace a trackless course with me around 

The dead, yet living, scenes, which may be read 
By the faint marks upon this hallow'd ground ? 

Build in the embodiment of the mind 
That which by music's lay thy life hath found 

Earth-famed for that which speaks about our 
kind, 
Torn by deep gash of such contemptuous wound ! 



THE NATIONAL GLORIA. 29 

The wound is healed ! and Glory's image rear'd, 

The monument to pity and distress — 
To heroes and their c^use a standing light, 

Whose fame shall brighten by the hymns that 
bless 
The One who bore the standard from the night, 

Placed it on high, where still it is endeared, 
Enthroned and honored in its tow'ring height ; 

Where waves the flag, by blazing letters geer'd, 
With laving stripes and stars increasing bright. 

Lo ! when the sun departs forever more, 

And ceases to return unto the morn. 
The stars be blotted from their clust'ring bow. 

The moon of all her golden splendor shorn, 
W^eeping for aught, if aught she doth but know. 

Then shall our fame, and only then, be o'er : 
And when all Nations' flags decline to blow 

Unto their realms to deck their glowing shore, 
All earth grows dark, our fame may cease to 
glow. 

CANTO II. 

I GAZED upon the plains where Rochambeau 
And his six thousand lightly trooped at eve, 

And thought me of where twinkling feet had been, 
Where village maids did welcomely receive 

That foreign kiss, as did the dance begin ; 
3* 



30 THE NATIONAL GLORIA. 

And thought I heard in the oblivion flow 
The cheering strain from out the violin, 

And saw the cheek all merrily aglow 
Ere on their bravos moved to battle din. 

But Time, whose heavy hoof cleaves o'er the sod 

Where Marquis' chevaliers were in the dance, 
Hath not torn out the. sequel of their trace: 

And 't is a noble heritage for France 
That heraldry no season can deface. 

Though there no record stands above the sod 
To tell of France and her transcendent grace, 

History for them claims an unworn abode 
No war can blush, nor ages e'er displace. 

Now by yon creek of many a glittering shell 

The sycamore is bending, barked and gray, 
Along the bank, and shades the whit'ning stone : 

There floats the dandelion far away 
Over the waters to the breezes blown, 

Dipping at. times into the bubbling swell. 
Then flies away to hide its bloom alone. 

Wrapt in the whirlwind ; borne o'er hill and 
dell, 
It rests at last in statelier beauty grown. 

I 've watched these hues of opalescent light 
While in the sunshine by the banks, where rose. 
Or seemed to rise. Life's river, dark and deep, 



THE NATIONAL GLORIA. 3 I 

And flow on to eternity, where goes 
The sad, unconscious slumberer, in sleep. 

Sad were my dreams and dire the dreamy sight, 
And lone the bosom that I could not keep 

From sighs of dearth — it seemed an endless 
night, 
Full of black spectrums that go on and weep. 

These quaint, perlaceous sands of diamond glare 

Appear to call us from these maddening dreams — 
Appear to smile upon our thoughts of dread. 

And drown our visions drear with glorious beams. 
With all the pleasure that sunlight can shed ; 

Yet, be there blackness, let me wander there, 
Or gloomy days, it will not turn my head — 

Tt will not make my promises all bare 
Even though it pilot me unto the dead. 

Yet this Life's river ! Let us gaze, and gaze, 

And think we hear the crying of lost souls. 
The going down of those no more to rise ; 

I see the cataract o'er which still rolls 
The mighty torrent, ringing to the skies. 

Terrific, turbulent, and ebon sprays 
Go over it with sound like earthquake's sighs ! 

Go over it — and where it falls there plays 
The form of those who fell with shrieks and cries. 

Such things are common ; yet they still must stand 
Recorded and forever thus displayed. 
See Time, with sturdy face and hoary beard. 



32 THE NATIONAL GLORIA. 

And bony fingers on the carved stone laid, 
Noting the deed some ancient soul revered. 

There trace the lines — humanity's weak brand, 
Stare folly face to face, grown old and seared. 

And greet the icy soul ! There lend thy hand, 
He flinches not; thou needst not then have neared. 

And yet they near him. Hist ! another soul, 

With the same step, approaches to the scene. 
I hear his tread ; he marks the mouldy floor; 

Beneath him gapes a deep and dark ravine ; 
Over him the loud thunders wildly pour — 

The black clouds heave up as they seem to 
roll 
Their shadows thick along. Yet, as before, 

He dares the hurricane, assumes control. 
And still goes on, but soon shall go no more. 

It is a dream. We wake and look abroad. 

Beholding what was once and still is here, 
Though changed in form, the one's long dead and 
gone : 

Where, in whose stead, another hails the year, 
Another breaks in paces o 'er the lawn, 

Following the dazzles of another god ! 
While other dramas to his vision dawn. 

He traverses the waste. The huge trees nod 
Unto his breath — he has his race to run. 



THE NATIONAL GLORIA. 33 

Around us, elegantly, mansions rear. 

Embowered in the cotton timber grown, 
Commingled with the alder prospering, 

Thro' which the glimmering spires are gladly- 
shown : 
Over it flaps the swallow on the wing, 

With the mind delves where trunks of forest geer 
Their snags into the horizon : they sing 

To the wild winds. Methinks that I now hear 
That strange borne sound, that makes the deep 
wood ring. 

The isle : where Blannerhasset wooed away 

Those happy moments (ere he knew romance) 
With his fair mate of beauty, to beguile 

The sunny days away ! there was the dance 
And the rich nuptials, with the radiant smile, 

Sweet wines giving to mirthful eyes the ray 
With the cheeks' red color then. Fast sped the 
while : 

Love's meekest look hath faded with the day 
Whose hosts have left the glory of the isle ! 

Here tangling weeds from the foundation stone 
Cling vainly on the wall of dying worth, 

Where Burr, with some sweet creature, spoke of 
love — 
Where from the germ upon that noted earth, 

Sprung deeds to infamy, none now approve : 



34 THE NATIONAL GLORIA 

'Tis sadness to be there when all alone, 
Sadness to hear the cooing of a dove, 

Which seems to say, in a depressing tone. 
Long dead the joys of this despoiling grove! 

Here once tlje chandelier in golden light 

Streaked thro' the sombre pines. The sycamore 
Umbrageous seems to speak too of the past, 

A hoary witness of the day of yore, 
When his keen limbs were waving to the blast: 

Drunk the sun's rays, withstood the silent night, 
The time of stillness, when a cloak was cast 

O 'er this when they departed : yet as bright 
Fair souls shall sleep, though all decay at last. 

There is a time all fiery spirits die, 

(And times anew when others shall be born ;) 
The flame goes out and leaves a feature there 

Either of shame or something as forlorn, 
Unless a golden sequel it should bear — 

A motto worthy life : then in the sky 
The name will stand, beneath it oft a stare 

As covetous or loving aims as high — 
Then thrusts its dart ; behold ! the strike is rare. 

Something hath said (methinks I hear it now), 
Gape at the world, and it will stare at thee ; 
Go love the world, and thou art loved in turn ; 



THE NATIONAL GLORIA. 35 

Turn from the world, and then what wilt thou be^ 
Lost in forgetfulness or will they spurn ? 

I shall not now opine, nor shall I bow 
To the weak calls of men, who too must learn 

Where they shall stand, when ages mark the brow 
The youth held high, with fires that used to burn. 

But, hush ! There is a music in the night 

When the sad pillow of the aged is eased; 
When the mind that traversed over many a page 

Seems by a heav'nly song of love appeased ; 
When rest has come, and he has ceased to wage : 

When o'er his mem'ry steals a feeble light. 
And on his wrinkled cheek seems to engage 

Few wandering smiles — these take their flight, 
And with them goes the spirit of the sage. 

With silver'd hair in honor sits alone 

The sage, amid his volumes great and vast. 
Whose fire of youth has burn'd and blown away, 

Whose flighty and romantic days are past, 
Whose thoughts of instant fame did but decay 

When Toil bespoke, " 'T is I that makes man own 
The crown of envy in a nobler day 

Gold cannot purchase, nor can man dethrone. 
Nor ages vanish, nor can time betray." 

Few years : it seems that they are few 
Since he has travers'd over yonder mount: 
When from the wing he brought the soaring bird, 



36 THE NATIONAL GLORIA. 

And drank the gushing waters of the fount 
That drench'd the lofty hills. Their writhing curd 

Rattling around the rocks and down the slough 
Comes to his memory — the very word 

To himself he spoke in passion, comes anew 
To make him see what in his youth he heard. 

Another form goes there : The same old oak 

And venerable forests partly stand : 
The red man's axe is hidden in the dust : 

The moss-grown mounds upon the rolling land 
Are taken by another: while the crust, 

With wild flow'rs grown, where oft the fleet deer 
broke 

By tame herds now is trod. Th'e Indian's bust, 

Unholy idol, by a single stroke 
Lies crushed at earth, or shattered in the gust. 

We cannot all forget them. There is seen 

The hideous countenance and sunken eye, 
The war-spear and the dance, the blazing flame, 

And the pale victim to this imagery 
(The muffled drums), and last the deadly aim 

With that rude club, raised o'er the form serene 
By victor's hand, who hath a warrior's claim. 

He gives the blow ! and on the bloodless green 
The struck wretch reels, and writhes his quiv'ring 
frame ! 



THE NATIONAL GLORIA. 37 

Yet are they fading: like a summer flower 

Touched by the cold frosts of winter, so they 
Wither at the approach of morning's sun : 

By Tahla-quaji their chieftains take their stay 
Where the sweet waters of Minoa run. 

By many a rustic grove and gentle bower, 
Planted and form'd by virgins just begun 

To sport with love or try its weird power 
In wooing one, whose smiles seem dearest won. 

So shall they fade : the Iron Car moves forth — 

Beneath its wheels the weak shall perish ; lo ! 
Ground in the earth, they lose the name of race : 

Upon this monster's frontlet shines aglow 
The name of " Progress ! " and upon his face 

The doom of the unfortunate by birth 
Is writ : he yields not any living place, 

But plants his banded tracking on the earth, 
While hoards of wealth go looming in his trace ! 

Nobility and Glory are his friends, 

Who perch upon the mountain-tops, and look 
Upon his madness : and they pride his might. 

And they record his deeds, and seal the book 
With Peace and Plenty : this is his delight. 

Ev'n to yonder barrier he bends 
His grating footsteps; — with the air of night 

His hot and scorching breath he puffs and blends, 
And then, like Death, goes thundering out of sight. 
4 



38 THE NATIONAL GLORIA. 

His course is in the fairest dales ; his tread 

Where wealth and beauty all their sweetness 
spare 
For that which builds more beautifully still ; 

His blue smoke mingles with the mountain air 
High in the heavens : below h: takes his fill, 

Absorbs the timber of the forest dead, 
And sucks the waters from the flowing rill : 

He marks his course beyond him — still ahead 
He rolls beside, and thunders o'er the hill. 

Thus men derive their glory from the great; 

Thus, thus the Union lighteth up its glow, 
The gladdened shower of stars upon the ball. 

Sprinkled like to the evening's milky bow. 
When heaven is crystal clear ; and, too, when all 

The planets of the height appear in state 
Unshorn of beauty, like a magic scroll. 

The heaven unrolls a hemispheric slate, 
A dotted waste, a star-encumbered wall. 

Sweet is the 'fume the holy goddess breathes 

Of Liberty, with anadems that play 
Around the staff within her fair hands sealed. 

Which holds the flag still waving either way, 
Bearing to light the colors all revealed : 

Beauteous and bountiful the silk bequeaths 
A nation's pride whereat a kingdom kneeled, 

To which a people bows, an army wreathes. 
And bears in triumph on from field to field. 



THE N.4T/0.VAL GLORIA. 39 

And there she stands. I see her noble form 

Of the American in purity! 
A generous, worthy, and an honor'd sight 

To see her snow-white robe still floating free, 
Alike her pensive forehead, soft and white. 

Attracts the wondering gazes — growing warm. 
Enthusiastic, when he sees the plight 

Of that sweet virgin now Columbia's charm. 
Whose cheeks blush not, whose eyes are mild and 
bright. 

A mantlet shrouds the prized and holy ground 

Where golden baldrics on the starry ball 
Lie yet immanacled from war and toil : 

Lo ! by the eagle, whose endearing call 
Arouses man but to subdue turmoil. 

The giant cannon stands, with heapt up mound 
Of marshalling implements, to blast and foil 

Each daring foe — at every brasting sound 
To bid him pause, or quit Columbia's soil. 

This is our throne — forum of Liberty, 

Our guardian might — tribunal of the land; 
Around whose worth a statesman loves to trend, 

Around whose galaxy the bold shall stand : 
Unto whose honor fiery youths shall bend. 

To praise the patriot's holy victory 
In anthems loud : whose gloried strain shall tend 

To elevate the standard of the free. 
Which grows in power more famed unto the end. 



40 THE NATIONAL GLORIA. 

There was an eve of joy and revelry, 

Whose pleasance with a tear, too true, alas ! 
Seemed wiped away : for in the coming morn 

Many arose disconsolate, to pass 
The day in solitude, with hope forlorn : 

A victory had lent its radiant ray 
Unto the North ; its true delight was born. 

Hailed in that hour by serious heads and gay, 
Whose bonfires blazed, and .blew the victor's 
horn. ' 

Once, when a drama lit the eve with life. 

In glee unroll'd the midnight summer dream 
Unto the beautiful, the famed, the fair, 

A Lincoln gazed upon the stage's beam, 
And many of Republic's sons were there. 

A Lincoln fell ! — not in his country's strife 
On battle-field, but by the frontlet glare 

Of theatre — a faal tragic rife. 
On which, too true, the world disdains to stare. 

That coe a million hearts were beating gay ; 

While o'er the heath the greeting cannon's 
cheer 
Woke the enthusiasts unto the swell. 

It seem'd the night of all the doomy year. 
Ablaze by rockets streaming o'er the dell. 

Beauty and wealth, in military sway. 
Rode forth in pomp, when, like the lightning, fell 



THE NATIONAL GLORIA. 4 1 

Death's telegram ; when, lo! quick wiped away 
Tears joy had bred for tears to funeral knell. 

That night is over. Its gloom shall fade and die : 

As other deeds, the scar is but a brand, 
Quoting in distinct wound a martyr's fame : 

The infamy of one whose erring hand 
Carved with the victim's blood his living shame. 

The day is o'er ; we pass its folly by, 
And for our progeny make readier aim 

To fly the drear that darks the palmiest sky. 
Ere bore a star or held a cherished name. 

Weep not for old Columbia's fallen men, 

But for thy future desolation ; there 
Thy children yet may weep for unknown crimes, 

Taken in day, or night, or unaware. 
For o'er all worlds a slimy coldness climbs. 

Working itself into a broil, and when 
A people droop to such unmanly times. 

The roar of faction will be heard again 
With sloops of war to break what honor primes. 

For by those tears — so many might be vain : 
Bitter, or without groan, or deep-drawn sighs. 
Tear-drops by men who weep, not being im- 
pressed 
By mercy's call, nor by the friendly ties 
Being broken ; those that held the best 
4* 



42 THE NATIONAL GLORIA. 

Bosom to bosom, which to rend would pain, 
The beating hearts by that uniting blest: 

Such tears have of. en fell: but then they rain 
Not from the heart, but from the eye distressed. 

Yet there are sadder tales ; and as we read 

Of misery, or seek this to compile, 
As a grim remnant of some bygone day. 

We look around us and the ages smile 
With fate propitious, and our lives grow gray, 

With many a silver hair upon our head. 
Looking into the past we can but say, 

Hope's golden anchor with continuous thread 
Hath led us on through many a lowering day. 

Yet when the leaf is turned, and all is past 

Save that which lingers on the memory, 
A kind of fancied form of slighted dream, 

If dark or beautiful the image be 
In the remembrance of the things that seem. 

We may appease our weary soul at last 
While singing psalms beside a running stream, 

(3r listening to a mighty mountant blast, 
That steals o 'er earth where minion glories teem. 

The leaf is turned ; yet tho' the book not sealed. 
Nor hymn completed with the muse of song, 
Nor strain be o'er that sought such theme to raise ; 



THE NATIONAL GLORIA. 43 

Yet — yet imagination swings among 
Tlie relics of the past, as to appraise 

The glory of the heroes of the field, 
Where now we turn our last repeated gaze 

Upon the ground where foe and patriot reeled, 
Where planted once our flag swings in the haze. 

CANTO III. 

But we have follow'd war! Now with the spell 

Behold the stead, where Nature's boast survives 
In storm of waters ! as they loudly pour 

In fitful horror — where the thunder strives 
With the intensest wave that ere roU'd o'er 

A mountain rock : the groaning, deafening swell 
Bubbles and breaks a torrent gathered store. 

Ringing the phrase in deep, continuing knell : 
*' My Fame and power shall live forevermore ! " 

Here bold Niagara ! whose confounding foam 

Depicts the tremor of thy dreaded- roar ! 
Where thy benighting pillars yet recline, 

Or move, in flood! as were in days of yore. 
Majestic — convulsive — nor canst yet pine, 

But in this proud demeanor roll and roar 
On to eternity : it is thy shrine 

Which Speaks of deeds of terror done whilome 
When Glory — Pathos — Age! were numbered 
Thine ! 



44 THE NATIONAL GLORIA. 

Tumultuous Fall ! Ere waves consume thy brow, 

True, many a manly form shall thus decay : 
Here sire and youth in lustic voice endear, 

And hail the silvered emblem of thy spray ; 
With troubled feeling, yet sublime, thus near 

They stand upon thy banks, to vieu^ thee now ! 
Here chance a Mohawk wept a listless tear 

For such an immortality. Here bow 
A nation more, and still the work is here ! 

Forget the roar, and follow me in turn 

Out on the wing, where might is still display'd, 
Where souls have loved to trace in imagery : 

Nor cease in flight till all the world, surveyed, 
Comes to the mind in freshened memory : 

Go thou alone ! Or follow me and learn 
Of the bright sun, when looking o'er the sea, 

The grandeur of a clime when in its morn — 
And there behold what was and is to be. 

Unto the snow-bound polar North go, too, 

Where arctic waters populate the place. 
And the cold bands of precipices hang 

Their frowning grandeur : where yet shall dwell 
the race 
Who, with the frozen season rose and sang 

Their cheery notes of valor : as if true 
They loved to hearken to the bleak wind's clang, 



THE NATIONAL GLORIA. 45 

As 'neath December moons they would to woo 
Away the chill Blast fasting on its fang ! 

Then view the ice-clad crags of northern peaks, 

The bald rocks cloaked with everlasting snow, 
Where barren wastes to desolation stand, 

And stinted shrubs in a slow torment grow. 
To curse the more the aspect of the land, 

Where the eye gazes on a race that speaks 
Of an uncultured and degraded band : 

Yon rears their hut! ambition never seeks, 
Nor art hath changed, nor decked with poet's hand. 

But now return ; and sing a hymn of peace. 

And trace the valley's beauty to the river, 
Where giant Commerce looks unto the world. 

Taste these luxurious blessings, then pass over 
Wliere 'neath the pines the lazy cur is curled : 

There gaze upon the cities, and release 
Thy country's passions : Be not madly hurled 

From that devoted hope which ne'er shall cease 
As you gaze on Earth's glory still unfurled. 

I hear a sound in wind's monotony. 

Or some stray voice whose pleasantry is told 
Upon the walls that bare unto the west : 

High through the forest is its music roU'd, 
A song of many murmurs — as in jest 

Such wailing volunteered thus wild to be 
To haunt imagination : Yet at best, 



46 THE NATIONAL GLORIA. 

Those hoarser murmurs rising from the sea, 
Mix with these deep-toned moans, in their unrest ! 

The Shore ! the Beach ! or some enticing spot, 

To muse, — to think, to reckon of our days 
Alone and friendless, or with some one dear: 

Is there a wold, it may assist our praise ; 
Is there a cave of peace, let us draw near 

And write our names on rocks not soon forgot : 
What were all this? — as foolish as a tear 

Soon wiped by Time's rough hand ; it lasteth 
not, 

For Night is fleet, and Death seems not a year. 

The shells of some lone shore are murmuring 

A solitary song : Alas ! Alone ! 
A mariner perchance is shipwrecked there : — 

He whispers to himself of glory gone : — 
Now must they sing alike : He must forbear : 

He needs must think of lovelier ones that sing, 
Or sang for him before depress'd with care, 

And ere he dreamed of this an humbler thing 
That sings alone on shores so solitare. 

Where shrieking howls bestir the lonesome 
night : 

Where, too, the madge is mopin^ on the Oak, 
Tingling its fall-tipped leaves within the breeze : 

There, from a wigwam, once the music broke 
From lusty lips such state could but appease : 



THE NATIONAL GLORIA. 47 

But they were happy ! happy by the light 
Of the bright moon, that tinged their murky seas, 
Erst pale-face knew them : but more famed and 

bright 
His spire shall glow where once had waved their 

trees. 

Could those young children of the forest band, 

In their quaint prattling ask of destiny : 
Could aged parent in prophetic state 

Read from their own bare breasts what all 
should be, 
There would be scenes no mother could relate : 

Sighs would have choked her: — Powerful is 
the hand 
That marks for them the one impending fate : 

" A flock to waste like names upon the sand ; — 
A race that died for those they could but hate." 

But they are gone ! A remnant may be left : — 

A city towering high their namesake lives: — 
A river rolls in freedom and as pure 

Named of the chief of yore : This hist'ry gives 
Unto posterity alone to lure 

Us into thought, ere all our race forget 
The pleasing nakedness they did endure 

Their hardships — and at last the foe they met, 
Who followed up, and found them insecure. 



48 THE NATIONAL GLORIA. 

There stands no worth, nor fame is made their 
dower, 

Such fame as glows in lustrous life, to live, 
Breathed in a verse that stands forevermore, 

Honor to nations ; this that can but give 
A token of remembrance as of yore, 

Nations have handed names which speak of 
power 
Unto posterity ; such we adore ; 

But who shall weep for those, of former hour, 
Who died to leave no child their tale tell o'er. 

Like forest limbs and sylvan groves they waste, 

Before the plough, the car, the pride of race : 
Their vines are fruitless in memorial shade. 

Where flows the rill, and moves a paler face ; 
Beneath the same bright sky a prayer is paid 

To Him who calls mankind. Man seeks to taste 
The beauty of the earth ere must he fade, 

And leave its youth behind ; while still in haste 
He leaves the world, with all the marks he made. 

But where the holy light of Heaven is thrown 

In deep continuing rays, sweet vigils meet 
To watch above the tempted — there is bliss, 

A magic loneliness — a worthy seat. 
Where they who kneel enjoy the welcome kiss 

Of friend and Christian ; and true not alone, 
From spirit they enjoy the boon of this. 



THE NATIONAL GLORIA. 49 

With name of happiness ! There they atone 
For those dark days, whose deeds are oft amiss. 

Oft have I loved it. Once a Sybil's voice, 

Or some faint voice of prophecy, foretold, 
Through dreams to me of visions yet to come. 

But when the morning came and lit the wold 
Of my lone heart, my sense of life grew numb, 

And I forgot the world. Yet let us all rejoice ! 
Why should we sorrily sit hushed and dumb. 

When Hate and Love unlike are to our choice? 
We add of each behold ! how vain the sum. 

Should Morpheus mock the nights of our fair 

dreams ; 
The cold hand of felony be felt : 
Is there a thought that quickens in the mind, 
For friend and shield? When, doomed to pray, 
we knelt, 
Seeking a strong protector but to find : 

Now is he called. The light of Heaven beams 
While gloom of thought is left indeed behind, 
New hopes are springing, with their glad'ning 
gleams 
To cheer the eye, once flushed, now dull and blind. 

But these are household tales. Some city sacked, 
Left torn and bleeding, by a million balls, 
Enwrapt in warping flames, blown by the gale, 
5 D 



50 THE NATIONAL GLORIA. 

Which melts away its mighty rock-form'd walls, 
Where bitter wails and moans of things which ail 

Bespeak of war! The very earth is blacked, 
Where Heaven in darkness moves its cloudy sail, 

Away by slow decree ; beneath it racked 
The strong-built frames, in state no more prevail. 



Such have we known. The nucleole, 

The inward germ, may yet survive the storm, 
When the wild blast of vengeance dies away ! 

Though cities perish, there is still a form, 
An ideal of that which low may lay, 

Crushed in its wreck-like vaults. A perished 
whole. 
Was the black mass lit by the morning's ray ; 

No human force dared master or control, 
Since he was doomed, a wreck as black as they. 

Prociduous art ! The work of man alone, 

To-day in grandeur, but to-morrow dead, 
A moulding heap of ruin fall'n from fame, 

Whose glistening spires the monster flames 
have fed, . 
To waste like man himself and be the same : 

Ashes are both, tho' either claimed a throne ; 
Nameless are each, though both have had a name ; 

Though dead, the tomb of both alike may own, 
A name. I think they need not such to claim. 



THE NATIONAL GLORIA. 5 I 

Beautiful city ! City of the west, 

Prairies' boast and virgin of the lake, 
Not bled by ball nor torn by bursting shell, 

Thy splendor bowed as to a huge earthquake ; 
Imperial cities shrink by one long spell ; 

Thou wert a monarch with all missions blest, 
Beaming with trappings great : when, lo ! the knell 

Of a funeral march woke thy sweet rest. 
With one sad shock, art's power failed to quell. 

Alas ! proud city ! even by these ashes 

Soon lay the corner rock to build upon, 
Where man again his stately tower didst rear, 

Though fell'd by fate thy work was but begun ; 
For thou wert young ; and Time didst wipe the 
tear 

Glist'ning a day on maiden's drooping lashes; 
From such affrighting flame, with look severe, 

And hurried step they fled, yet heard the crashes 
Of flame-struck walls resounding on the ear. 

Alas ! felled city ! Even o'er the tomb 

Thou rearst again a monument as great 
As that which tower'd in wonder to the sky, 

In life and glory, and in noble state 
A prince, a king, of wondrous destiny : 

Thy fame increases through thy dreary doom. 
As fast as telegrams of fate shall fly ; 

Earth honor thee, even from out thy gloom 
And hopes those hungry cries will soon pass by. 



52 THE NATIONAL GLORIA. 

Such hours must be : Man truly sees the shade 

Of death move up to blast a bright career 
When all things seem to be most loved and fair, 

When he begins to look into the year 
With a heroic smile and lofty air ; 

Then high above the littfe work he made, 
Gathers a thick, black cloud, which tarries there, 

Black'ning and thundering, soon to invade 
His hoarded store, to lay his promise bare. 

But he shall rise again, and shake the dust 

From off his garment, and look to the sun. 
Grappling with firmer hold the staff of life — 

He marks the course ; he readeth, soon to run ; 
Planting his footing firm, he offers strife, 

For he has been a monarch, and he must 
Cut through gloom with imperishable knife ! 

Like it, he will not flinch — he cannot rust 
While all the world in action still is rife. 

Tokens of cheer arise but to inspire 

The breast that never falters to a theme, 
The heart that ceases only once to beat ; 

The eye that sends its keen and piercing gleam 
Forward to that the victor soon shall meet : 

Behold, upon his countenance the fire 
Lit by prosperity, born to defeat 

Impending foes, and place its honor higher, 
Where Fame shall sit, crown'd in imperial seat. 



THE NATIONAL GLORIA. 53 

But these pass by : To some, not till in death 

Shut from the earth, or that which may induce 
To fame, to wealth, or something as renown, 

Death hides the form from all the world's abuse, 
Uptrips the giant, turns the busy clown : 

Once shall the noblest warrior lie beneath 
The sod, where high in glory he had grown : 

Then shall the Mighty hush his ruling breath, 
Sleep like a slave, who never ruled a throne ! 

Tho' all the w'orld be dark, and hope seem drear, 

To him who had a longing to be great. 
Cherished from infancy to manly age. 

He finds excuse to build again in state, 
To stand upon the world's progressive stage, 

To mark ; that all may know that he is here, 
Ready in any battle to engage : 

This, this, is manliness ! and in a year 
Its looming light will shine on every page. 

The lords of earth spring forth ! Thou seest Pride 

Mantling himself with his nativity. 
And fast upon the wing to wealth he rides 

From land to land, from foaming sea to sea. 
Until his weaker days : once he derides 

And once so chained and low he is descried : 
And in his latter days he softly glides 

Where the swift current even seems to hide 
His wasting form amid the moving tides. 
5* 



54 THE NATIONAL GLORIA. 

This is true life. He that hath known it best 

Is he who struggled hard against the winds 
Of cold adversity, and did rejoice 

Deepest o'er victory : even he who finds 
In his worst hour a one compassionate voice 

By which he may be soothed : His very guest 
Of happiness, — nay, she who is his choice, 

Loves him for all his sorrow, — he is blest 
In mad career, with all that which annoys. 

He suns himself betimes within a grove, 

Where Nature's majesty, in grand display, 
Makes him forget the sorrows of the earth ! 

He bathes himself in morning's purest ray, 
Alas ! to find his happiness all dearth ; 

Ev'n when around him gather forms of love. 
He Wonders to himself of their short worth : 

Though meek as angels, tender as the dove. 
Their charms are vain ! they give no gladness 
birth ! 

Within the world there is a lonely spot 

Where many linger to awake the soul 
To life again, whose every hope seems dead ! 

'T is there we love in quietude to stroll, 
And meditate upon the years ahead, 

And call unto the mind things near forgot 
Of many a little moment that has fled. 

Of fortune that hath given to us the lot 
To live, to do, to die, when all is said. 



THE NATIONAL GLO-RIA. 55 

But when we madly dream on dreary days, — 

Days that are very sad to think upon, — 
Days that are miserable as they come back 

To memory, or 'gin with shame to dawn. 
To show to us our one conceited track, 

Long and deep cut, on which few glimmering rays 
Steal but to fade, the shuddering form must take 

Strength to bear up to the unhaltered gaze 
That looks through dreams, while man is still 
awake. 

Beneath the foliage of some great tree, 

Upon a grassy bank to gently lie, 
To look o'er mountains as they proudly rear 

Their massive mounds into the azure sky — 
To track around their pyramids, and steer 

The miiid in the recesses — where to be 
Would add sublimity and a fresh tear 

Unto the eye that might but strain to see 
Ulterior worlds, though vainly would it peer, 

Is happiness, — to watch the eagle soar! 

The shrieking crows flock in the yieldy field. 
The huntsman tramp along the open wood, 

Are boyhood joys, to which I long to yield 
Once more, and feel as young as when I stood. 

Or lay, or sat, beside where waters pour 
Their torrent down the way in listless flood, — 

Down thro' the meadow with incessant roar. 
Where fair the lily pushed its summer bud. 



56 THE- NATIONAL GLORIA. 

But aye ! those joys will never more return, 

To cheer the soul or rouse the latent heart, 
Whose every beat brings near' and nearer still 

The day of all the years when must we part, 
Struggling for life, or not, against the will. 

The day will come, when life's fair lamp to burn 
Will cease forevermore ; and by yon hill 

The ashes shall be lain. There youth will leafn 
Of life's short hour, and turn to take his fill. 

But are there other joys? Speak, if in death 

There is a pleasant rest, if nothing more, 
A pillow that is soft, if ev'n no dream 

Of sweetness cheers us on that distant shore, 
Where things no more are real, but must seem. 

Speak! if the Psalmist in his music sayeth 
There will be happiness — a glorious gleam. 

All, — all, — to him who for such haven prayeth, 
'T were sweet to die, and see its righteous beam. 

CANTO. IV. 

The domes, the turrets, o'er the smiling dell, 

That point into the sky beyond us far. 
Whose huge brass balls are glaring in the sun, 

Arear above the waving hills, that bar 
Away the western winds which o'er us run. 

Winging autumnal leaves o'er creek and fell, — 
For on the breeze their flitting has begun 



THE NATIONAL GLORIA. 57 

In whirlwind, ringing its unholy knell 
To us anon — we list ! — its muse is done ! 



The big lake quavers in the gentle breeze, 

The guardian monsters of the changing deep 
Go ploughing forth amid the broiling foam, 

While at the stern the hurried waters creep 
To follow in their course ; the bubbles roam 

Outward, and die, as far as the eye sees 
Them sail away ! — the waves yet clomb 

Around the ship, that breaks them by degrees, 
And wades the flood, unto a distant home. 

Yon sun, while sinking by the waters blue, 

Beneath the red clouds, darkening by the night, 
Leaves to the moon and stars a sleeping earth, 

So faintly pictured by their tender light, 
So' beautiful appears — a wooing worth 

A paradisean scope of pencil'd hue ! 
A landscape honored by a renewed birth. 

Where all is stillness, — every form is new: 
And life is blest with peace, if not with mirth ! 

Yet night ! Let a quietus sleep with thee. 
Nor Pan shall stir, nor infantry be heard. 

When the millennium's great star shall shine : 
Then angels' lips will speak the holy word, 

Some spirit of the realm above, divine, 



58 THE NATIONAL GLORIA. 

Shall sound the horn ! — its music o'er the lea 
Shall lift mankind. Faint heart should not repine, 

For there is life, existent when there be 
A time when sings High spirit of the Nine! 

But this is Night ! A sacred night at best : 

The sorrage dampens by the falling dew; 
The yeoman now is dreaming in his lair ; 

The lunar rays betwixt his blinds go through, 
And sprinkle gracefully a picture there, 

Upon the form half dreaming in his rest : 
He wakens not. His face perhaps is fair, 

Or bronzed by many suns. His eve is blest 
With peaceful sleep ; why should we stop to stare ? 

Soft be that pillow toil and virtue gain ; 

And gentle is the slumber of the maid 
Whose cheery laugh resounded in the hall 

Ere sleep came on. Sweet were the words she 
said, 
The tale she told, the music of her call. 

The cheeks that glow'd, the lips that loudly 
reign. 
The eyes that speak and show her beauty all : 

Her snowy bosom heaves : her head is lain 
Upon a pillow stretching from the wall. 

And thus she dreams ! An early blossom born : 
In bloom for some untimed dismay, perhaps, 
Whose beauty may be lost. But so she dreams : 



THE NATIONAL GLORIA. 59 

Around her half-nak'd waist a cloak she wraps, 
And follows in the world that only seems ; 

Returning from its labyrinths in morn, 
When the big sun betwixt her lattice streams. 

After the cock has crow'd, and loud the horn 
Roused up the youths to push their sturdy teams. 

Still this is Night ! The hoarse dog bays afar : 

The stray horse neighs, and paws within his 
stall ; 
The stag bellows beside the rick of hay, 

The music of the night! Some weird call, 
And all is still again. This goes away : 

Man's children rise and view the morning star, 
Which soon shall shed its last assuming ray ; 

For the bright Sun, with its expectant Car, 
Rolls from the east, and marks the earth with day ! 

The Morning breaks ! How charming is the 
spell ; 

Over the stretching meadow 'gins to climb 
The earliest raylets, twinkling on the dew : 

The matin songsters breathe in holy chime 
Upon the topping waving to our view ! 

The lakes grow brighter in the shady dell, 
Where rising herds begin their tramp anew. 

And wind along, led by the king low bell 
In nature's grove, from whence the eagle flew. 



60 THE NATIONAL GLORIA. 

The matron and the maiden's lullabies, 

The hound whose voice is ringing in the wood, 
■ The woodman's axe, the screaming hawk, the crow, 

And all that meet the ear with song, intrude, 
And mingle with the whistling winds that blow 

Like autumn blasts above the land and seas ! 
For this is bustling life ! behold, and lo ! 

Yon bows the pine, yon wave the maple-trees, 
Yon rear huge rocks, beneath the clouds of snow ! 

There is a garden planted by fair hands. 

Whose flowery waste is beautiful to see, 
Where roses bloom — the lilac sweetly grows. 

And overhead doth bend the willow-tree ; 
Near to whose roots a gentle rillet flows. 

Where shines its pebbles and its diamond sands 
Of fairest crystal known. There Flora goes 

Tripping with gentle voice, and busy hands, 
To view her paths, and pluck the wasted rose. 

There is a garden ! Should the world be so 

Clothed with a garb of freshness thus secure. 
Whose gates be garnished with the name of one 

Who fought for victory — and did endure 
A deadly foe? — the reel of foreign gun, 

The plagues of poverty, of early woe, 
Who bore the name of Liberty's fair son 

Still garlanded with living fame ! and lo ! 
It is the name of our own Washington ! 



THE NATIONAL GLORIA. 6 1 

Should youth still pride Napoleonic fame, 

While France, so dead, presents a hecatomb ? 
And should we dream of Empires built afar, 

Of dukedoms, to possess a youth to bloom 
Upon a throne to mark the course of war. 

And be a victim to ill-fated flame. 
While Freedom rolls along in her fleet car. 

With statesmen born, who rule, but not the same. 
As Prince may rule, nor with the sway of Czar? 

Vile hope of youth ! Thy castle falls away. 

And life being real shows a world of care : 
The people of the mightiest, the great, 

The powerful, or the oppress'd, who dare, 
Or even the weak perchance will rise by fate ; 

When step by step he wins, or when in day 
Fortune has smiled upon him. But why wait ? 

The earth prowls on, the sun creates its ray, 
To paint the weak, beneath the forms of state. 

Lo ! sighs the breeze ! 'T is sweetest murmuring ; 

It lifts the shrivelled leaves that gently dance, 
Along the way unto the half-turned gaze ; 

Whose frosty bottoms glister in the glance 
Of the big sun, that peeps above the haze. 

Lo ! by the weed the sporting zephyrs sing, 
Th' eternal hymn, of one eternal praise. 

Around the cavern grottoes, where the wing 
Of wild fowl stretch, unto the mountain rays. 
6 



62 THE NATIONAL GLORIA. 

Soft sighs the breeze, — its voice is music still, 

A gentle voice, the lullaby of heaven. 
Whispered from angels' lips, from bosom pure, 

As if, by that sweet sound, heart is forgiven 
Of dreary deed, refreshened to endure, 

The bounteous gifts, these blessings can instil : 
Something, — a luxury, — and still secure, 

Arears unto our vision, while the will 
Follows it on, and loves its holy lure ! 

Sweet is that voice that lingers on the ear, 

As if a vigil cherub, wandering, gave 
Her spirit to the winds that sport around. 

Nodding the cedar with a gentle wave. 
As high it stands upon yon sacred ground ! 

Sweet to the soul yon feathery pine-trees rear, 
Sighing unto the breeze, a weird sound. 

In real life, which cannot all appear, 
A life of love, which bears a bitter wound. 

Yet from Imagination's prided songs, 

Deep sounding, and as lasting as the earth, 
There comes a spell that calmly rocks the soul. 

Giving unto the muse an angel birth, 
And a fair bower to rest in, and patrol, 

Where l^atred never comes, nor sorrow wrongs 
The gentle breasts of those who strangely stroll, 

Aby the way, where music still prolongs 
Its luscious praise, and spreads its poet scroll ! 



THE NATIONAL GLORIA. 63 

When sickened with the world, and all its show, 

Torn by the faults that cannot be suppressed, 
Tortured with agony, and sad and sore : 

When worried by the words that have redressed 
The aching heart, and burned its very core : 

Then vengeance loiters in the bosom, — lo ! 
Shaking the restless mind, that seems to pore, 

On that which is the weapon of the foe, 
To find its haunt, to rend its blackened store ! 

These themes come home ! The heart, in its 

deep wound, 
Sinks with the mind unto the silent shades, — 
If not for love, for an unbroken peace, 

Where no one ever comes, nor e'en invades 
These distant grounds, where silence should not 
cease. 
'T is where the rocks, and caves, and woods 
abound, 
For solitude, — though little born to please, — 

He that shall tread this lone, sequestered ground. 
To cool his rage, or rock his mind to ease. 

But watch this lurking form ! Look at his eyes, 

Reading the doom of some one, who shall fall 
Victim to his great strength or his deceit : 

His jaws are knit, and writhing is his gall ; 
His face is flushed by the increa:sing heat ; 

He moves along a monarch in disguise, 
A raving, formal fool, who soon shall meet 



64 THE NATIONAL GLORIA. 

Death face to face, and leap upon his prize, 
Like a fell fiend, whose deeds are incomplete ! 

These themes must pass, I ween not of the Nine, 

Nor sing as sad a tale as may be told ; 
For in the world of song what should there be? 

A mask of beauty should the muse uphold : 
Then let me tune again, and cheerily 

Sing of the power of a world divine. 
And of the nation from whose fruitful tree 

Grow blessings oft anon : whose light may shine 
Unto the earth, that all the world might see. 

There is a Garden, but 't is nature's wild, 

Wherein we stroll for pastime's pleasantry, 
To pluck the blooming stalks for those we love : 

• The mocking-bird sings on the lofty tree, 
With voice feline ! betwixt his notes the dove 

Coos mournfully, and with a tone so mild 
That the mind thinks here heaven seems to 
prove 

The glory of a Hand whose Holy Child 
Now rules the world, and tenders every grove. 

How fleet the hour in this sequestered spot, 
The bird's carol our only company. 

For all mankind is bushed : how fleet the day 
For something that we love about us be; 

Sweet songsters with their tones of harmony : 



THE NATIONAL GLOFIA. 65 

Dark moments of the past may be forgot 
In such an hour, while every heart is free 

From debt or deed engendered with our lot, 
Or things that press, or things the mind may see. 

The moss-grown hill of massy ivy twined 

Where wild herbs shoot unto the peeping sun, 
That glances thro' the bows above us swung. 

Is where a warrior leaned upon his gun 
In many days ago ! when low he sung 

And wooed his dusky bride, with heart assigned 
Unto this stately form. But Time has wrung 

The earth of forms like these, who have repined 
And hushed their muse; — we list! — we hear no 
tongue ! 

The giant Oak, that tossed its branches high. 

Now lying low, uprooted by the wind, 
Bore in its sway the ones that tower'd beside : 

Like man, it is an emblem of his kind : 
Those that are nearest are the ones whose pride 

Is crushed if he should fall ! for they were nigh : 
He waved o'er them in each successive tide : 

They loved such mammoth life, and with a sigh, 
Bowed to each move, to' fall at last denied ! 

Such may be known. The past has ken it long ; 
And many a time, when life most sweet appears, 
Some lesser form is wrecked by form of state : 
6* E 



66 THE NATIONAL GLORIA. 

The world takes little note, it sheds few tears 
For humble forms, yet mourneth for the great. 

Whose trials are prosed, whose victory in song 
Goes to mankind, still weeping for the fate 

Of him who tower'd amid their mighty throng 
In giant life, a moving, bending mate. 

Yet Might must rule the world! It turns the 
wheel 

Of giddy time, and places on its brow 
The name of him who is the mightiest! 

Even unto whom the humbler beings bow, 
To hail such turgent fame ! Why are they blest? 

Why do a million unto heroes kneel, 
And wear their mottoes with unbounded zest, 

In hours of thoughtless life? Yet still they 
feel 
That they are bred and born to be the best. 

In ages past the heaven was history ! 

The stars the brazen letters of the verse 
From which the shepherd read and sung afield : 

I cannot know from whence it claimed its source. 
But think a name on high in heaven sealed 

Would stand that all Eternity might see ! 
And truly, if there was in it revealed, 

How man might rise, its sheet would be to thee 
A guide for Earth, for Death a worthy shield ! 



THE NATIONAL GLORIA. 67 

Still, there are tombs that be not in the sky, — 

The sepulchres of those whom wealth may own 
As those of its known legion. Poverty 

At last stands drearily a rich man's throne, 
His last momentum ! Can such change e'er be ? 

Can all his riches but a tombstone die, 
With nothing but a name to memory. 

The birth the date of death to passers-by ? 
Or even a stone, whose date you may not see ! 

Man stalks abroad ! The world yields to his 
tread ! 

Created to create the strongest heart; 
Tears down to build, in building seeks to dwell, 

To crave — to gather from the world of mart 
Things that are ever vain ! List ! now the knell 

Tolls the funereal sound of some one dead, — 
He who hath stemmed the tide, yet at last fell, — 

Whose visions of this world have likely fled ; 
Whose doom is death ! whose fate is heaven or 
hell ! 

Lo ! to the churchyard where his fathers rest 

Are borne the kindred's love, his last remain ! 
From thence a voice ascends unto his God ! 

From thence another slowly moving train, — 
Another form is lain beneath the sod, — 

Another sleeps ; perhaps his dreams are blest, 
Where o'er him soon a listless tree may nod, 



68 ' THE NATIONAL GLORIA. 

Beneath whose boughs the leaves bedeck the crest 
Where rests the form, by which a thousand trod. 

Yet, in that cemetery, where doth He 

The clay once beautiful in living life, 
Sleep all the same the wretched and the wise 

On earth amid the mighty field of strife, 
Where they rejoiced and sorrowed. And the skies 

Are still the same unto the passer-by 
Who reads the tomb, beneath whose marble lies 

The crumbling feature torn from every tie 
He once had loved, which now Death's bar defies ! 

'Neath Bunker's monument, where still as blest, 

Smouldering in decency our yeomen be. 
Of hundreds heaped in patriotic pile, 

There Freedom dwells, and Liberty we see 
Looks from the marble in heroic style : 

There warriors lie who died on Bunker's crest. 
Who fought undisciplined the cultured file 

Of those who, like them, but not laurelled, rest 
Beneath heaven's gaze, which scorns them with a 
smile ! 

There is a harp for those who nobly fall. 
Whose strains now mingle on the listful ear. 

While here we pause upon the noted earth, 
And drop for parentage a gentle tear. 

For those who gave our liberty its birth. 



THE NATIONAL GLORIA. 6g 

Who sleep in glory 'neath the marble tall, 
Telling in deep cut letters of the worth 

Of breasts con^fined in that well-guarded wall, 
No cannon jars, nor mortar blasts its girth. 

Then pause upon the sod ! here softly tread, 

For in funereal shroud sleeps, low below. 
The parent ashes of Columbia's pride ! 

Unstartled with the step of friend or foe. 
They in their long completed homes abide : 

The buccaneer, the soldier, and the dead, 
Thrust in a hopeful life beyond the tide, 

Their spirit dwells ; while here may rest the 
head, 
The arms, the frames, the bosoms true and tried ! 

Shall Mars repose here in the dead of night. 

Or haunt the place of fortune and renown ? 
Shall this be made the spot of ruling" Pan ? 

Or shall the vigil from a highborn throne 
Perch on the stone to guard the bed of man ? 

Here should be peace, for death dethroned the 
might 
Of these sweet sleepers, who have marched a van 

On to the grave ! Here should be peace and 
light. 
Such holy flame as when their lives began. 



70 THE NATIONAL GLORIA. 

Thus are they hymned ! They rest in quietude 

Deep in the soil for which they fought and bled ! 
Deep in the tomb that rises to the view, 

A home for forms whose spirits all have fled 
Unto a kingdom where their little crew 

Is hushed from faction ; where no foes intrude, 
Nor monarch hand shall coldly grasp the few, 

Or threat their happiness, nor mock their rude 
Constructed homes ; nor find them even untrue, 

Tho' crisp the leaves by many an autumn blast 

Fall o'er the grave, where lingers now the soul : 
And though the flowerets die away, the same 

In every garden where the man may stroll, 
Lingering amid its beauty without aim : 

The memory of heroes of the past 
Like these shall be renewed. With gun and 
flame ! 

The toasts that speak by every cannon's blast, 
Tell of their strife, and their eternal fame ! 

Nor flattery alone shall be my theme 

For those who sleep, not heeding its vain 
praise — 
For those who, conquering, in the battle fell ! 

But I shall sing those famed and nobler lays 
On whose expectant tone I long to dwell ; 

For in this vision there is still a dream 
Ringing its music voice like distant bell 



THE NATIONAL GLORIA. y\ 

Unto the morning Light, whose gladdening 
gleam 
Streaks o'er the hill, to seek the bowery dell. 

There is a psalm that quotes of other days, — 

A psalm that reads of heroes and their fall, 
When other days shall close this world's career 

Amid the worlds that roll a star withal, 
Blotting out man as man wipes out a tear. 

Some secret Power that closes worldly praise 
Shall give the stroke ; and kindreds loved .and 
dear 

With vilest foes shall weep at every gaze, 
While groan the Fates that shake the earth with 
fear ! 

Yet proud Columbia ! In thy loftiest day, 

Shut from the dreams of future dread and drear. 
Prophetic voices speak, but speak of power. 

And the big world beholds our youthful flame 
With eyes of praise; and when the folded shower 

Of the gilt flag begins to show the ray 
Of stars and stripes, a Nation prides its dower 

With pomp and show in glory of display, — 
'T is fame ! march on ! 't is a majestic hour. 

Thysons were rocked by Freedom's cheerysong, 
And cradled in the bed of Liberty ! 
Full many a mother, kissing at her breast 



72 ■ THE NATIONAL GLORIA. 

The infant's speechless lips, seems there to see 
Young Eloquence, a future senate's guest ! 

She holds the babe, — her lips must tarry long, 
While on its head her holy blessings rest, 

As round its neck her arm embracing strong 
That youth to fame, a nation's honor pressed ! 

The year goes by, and the millennium 

Comes on apace, when Satan will be bound ; 
When florid earth will with all grandeur teem, 

And the pale moon will tinge the holy ground 
At even-time with yet a golden beam ! 

After the busy bees have ceased to hum ; 
And still shall Venus in her beauty stream! 

Still shall the garden in its beauty bloom. 
Earth roll the same, the sun put on its gleam ! 

The year goes by ! A thousand may be born ! 

Ten thousand fall by cannon or by sword ! 
Man still remains a being as of old. 

Like when in Eden Angel's voice he heard, 
Walking within Almighty's golden wold. 

Awake to sin, which makes a life forlorn, 
And led by woman, whose sweet charms are told 

Like Eve's, when Adam in the quiet morn 
Betrayed his rites, nor took exchange in gold. 

Yet Time ! most weird Time ! thy mark is made 
On castles reared and temples in the sun ! 
Whose rays upon the minarets bespray 



THE NATIONAL GLORIA. 73 

Year after year, nor cease till man is done 
Building his Towers ! Alas ! thou hast no stay, 

And still art here. Why is it thou hast stayed, 
Tarrying thus long, and hasting yet away ? 

Each city bears thy stroke ! Thy very shade 
Marks man with years, with shrivelled form and 
gray. 

America ! America ! thy Towers 

Glow beautiful, and some with mystic tale, 
And some with shaking walls, by creeping age, 

They stand monarchial on hill, in dale : 
In history behold their artists' page ! 

Behold the implements of former hours ; 
Those armaments that decked an earher stage, — 

The flint, the spear ! But now the curtin lowers ; 
Their tales from death none e'er can disengage ! 

The Indian mounds ! the forts upon the field. 

Beneath the white man's plough are levelling o'er, 
Soon to be furrowed, and without a trace. 

Their claim from earth will waste forevermore : 
And many a skeleton, in hid embrace, 

Shall cling to mother earth still unrevealed : 
And the dark monster, who had used to grace 

The earth with his proud form, at last is sealed 
In death at best ; no tombstone marks the place ! 
7 



74 THE NATIONAL GLORIA. 

Yet modern Worth! Fond to thy memory 

The noblest ones shall statue-like proclaim 
The age of power, 'and the days of light, 

Whose pure momentum, writ in golden name, 
Is blazed with truth, and glorified with might ; 

Whose operant with honor for the free, 
In its meridian no hand can blight; 

While high the banner born for Liberty 
Shall wave with stars, yet beautiful and bright ! 

The eagle's hollow scream, the mountain bird, 

And the sweet songstress prinked in shining 
plume. 
All ! all are singing with eternal ode ; 

The hoarse Niagara of incessant boom 
Howls to the world, from his far-famed abode ; 

The Yosemite, through visions, may be heard 
To praise Almighty, naught can discommode, 

The deep bass voices singing as they curd, 
With notes as sweet, in praises to our God ! 

Methinks I hear some little vagrant stream, 

Sing lasting praises in its murmuring ; 
Where tulips bow to taste its wayward dew. 

Where mint grows wild, and tender mosses 
cling; 
Where the green willow bends unto our view, 

Bowing unto its shadows in the gleam ! 
Deep into which reflects the sky, as blue, 



THE NATIONAL GLORIA. 75 

As pure, and holy as the pleasant beam 
From Christian eyes, whose loving hearts beat 
true. 

Methinks the rolling ocean in its moan 

Speaks of a Deity ! Each bill'wing wave 
That breaks in bubbles on the ceaseless tide 

Wings praises to Almighty God, who gave 
It voice eternal ! filled it with the pride 

Of power, and of living fame ; whose tone 
Superb shall on the winds forever ride. 

Unto a God in his ultereal throne, 
Where angels pure in glory still abide. 

Methinks the mighty rivers of the plain, 

That pour their pilgrim foam into the deep, 
Hymn praises loud to amaranthine love ! 

The huge gray rock o'er which the waters leap, 
Where surges break, pretend as if to prove 

The firmness of his word : it is not vain ! 
So sighs the breeze in every gentle grove; 

So sing the hills, and dales, and man again 
Beholds it true — why should I cease to move ? 

Hark! from the mountain comes a blend of 
sounds; 

It be not bass drums beating; list! again, 
Naught does the eye behold, save trees that grow 

Along the hillock, by yon shaggy glen. 
What can it be ? The wind has ceased to blow I 



76 THE NATIONAL GLORIA. 

Yon hang thick tufts upon the rolling mounds, 
High over which the bended elm-trees bow, 

Beyond whose crest the rocky peak abounds, 
Inwrapped with ice, and an eternal snow ! 

Is it the spirit of a 'parted dead, 

Or the volcano's bursting from beneath ? 
The groaning wild. of some fierce animal? 

The cannon's boon that rolls along the heath, 
Seeming in glee of victory to tell ? 

Or the Almighty's thunder overhead. 
From the dark cloud that now begins to swell 

Above the horizon ? The sun has fled 
Behind the cloud, that rings its deadly knell ! 

The voice of God, from out the thunder-cloud, 

Comes to our ears in mystic melody ! 
Afar the vivid flashes wildly flount, 

From the thick mist of heaven's canopy : 
The oriole is winging from the mount ; 

But the wild ox is bellowing as loud 
On the vast plains ! I stop not to recount 

The deeds of these before : but in a shroud 
The storm comes on ; all hail ! exhaustless fount ! 

Now shake the Temples ! Now the forest trees 
Wave to the whistling winds ; and in the air 
The wand'ring weeds go twirling on afar ! 



THE NATIONAL GLORIA. 



77 



And now the monstrous lake forbids to bear 
The bark of man ; but still the strong shores 
bar 

It from the plains, tho' troubled by the breeze ; 
Yet the sand-bank is shifted by the jar 

Of the strong surge, that moves upon the seas 
Each looming wave, with its stupendous car ! 

The storm goes by, and ere the coming morn 

The gray clouds beckon to the traveller, 
Who smiles upon the swift-departing night. 

Lo ! from his couch he now begins to stir, 
Beholding in the east the sun as bright : 

He hears the pealing of the bugle-horn. 
The ringing bells that wake the world to might: 

The souls to wealth, the stricken and forlorn. 
Awake to see the streaming Eastern light ! 

Sweet is the morn that calmly opes to day. 

When the big sun begins afar to climb! 
When the deep sky is speckless, and as clear 

As maiden's virtuous countenance ! The time 
Of joy is come ! all that was ever dear 

Returns to memory in freshened ray : 
All hail ! the earliest beams ; they sprinkle here 

Upon the glassy globes of dew ; and spray 
O'er lakes in hues that tremble far and near ! 
7* 



y8 THE NATIONAL GLORIA. 

It is a gentle morn ! and Ceres smiles 

O'er the big fields, where golden harvests hang : 
The crow is calling from the maple height : 

The hunter's rifle clangs its telling bang, 
And the wild bird is hastened in its flight ! 

Aye ! these are happy moments : naught defiles 
The heart that feels, the mind that sees the sight ! 

For in this grove famed beauty softly whiles 
Away the hours, ere Somnus brings the Night. 

By yonder hill a mansion cloud of snow 

Goes slowly moving in majestic state, 
Whose ivory mantle changes as it rolls 

On to its pending doom! Think of its fate, — 
What hand doth guide it, or v/hat spell controls 

It in that distant world of fading woe ? 
It goes away : like it ten thousand souls 

Are born to wealth, but like a vision go 
Where guardian death their nightly course patrols ! 

Lo ! by the creek that rolls in murmurs by 

We sit and listen to its living sounds 
Of music borne ! But yet not torn away 

Is the quaint spell which haunts these lovely 
grounds. 
And lifts the soul unto the calls of day : 

Deep in the wave reflects the azure sky ! 
Deep in the wave the clouds in fair array 

Move on in purity, and cheerily 
The soul with it delves with the raylet's play ! 



THE NATIONAL GLORIA. Jg 

High through yon glen the owlet swiftly flies ! 

High o'er the brake the stinting fog ascends, 
To shade the earth with its ephem'ral gloom ; 

Hushed in its midst the mighty elm-tree bends ; 
Shut from our view be its expressive plume ; 

Decked unto self, but not unto the skies. 
It stands a monarch in secluded bloom, 

A prided host where yet no voices rise 
To praise its day, or reckon of its doom. 

There is a River, whose translucent wave 

Is calm and silent : many a twig is bent 
In seeming absent mood above its waste, 

And oft a golden leaf is lightly sent 
Upon the crest, like it as pure and chaste, 

Where, too, a flow'ret, straying, seems to brave 
The stilly tide : naught seems to be in haste. 

For Grace is beauty, even in a slave, 
And Freedom's Grace is glory to the taste ! 

I loved this quietude ! in former year. 

The wilderness, by some enticing nook, 
Where tall trees stand encumbered with the vine, 

I loved to sit and sing from Nature's book. 
And dwell amid its glories all divine. 

There but to smile alone, and there shed tears, 
Because of Destiny. I did opine 

Upon life's vanity — the little jeers. 
And all the faults, I reckoned to be mine ! 



8o THE NATIONAL GLORIA. 

But now the leaf is turned : the Book is sealed, 

And words, tho' carved in marble, spell no more : 
All seems obliterate : the syllabus 

Is in the mind, which ceases to adore. 
The Book is closed: the contents none can guess: 

The fruit of some few pages, though annealed, 
Has lost the steel that gave my fire stress : 

Yet facing foes innumerable, I yield 
To Fate alone that which shall curse or bless. 



CANTO V. 

I HAD a Vision in my youth of Fame ; 

With it the Muse began to breathe in song. 
For in the world a something seemed to be 

Speaking of glory ! This shall tarry long, 
Instilling me as I look o'er the sea, 

And breathe pathetic hymn for patriotic name, 
With the loud music of the Great — the Free! 

Who bled in many a contest ; but became 
A might on earth, of an unmatched degree ! 

There was a time — I now must sing of war! 

There was a time — I sing Saint Lawrence's hymn ; 
There was a time when Quebec's glory dawned : 

A time when o'er her city hung the dim 
And thick'ning ashy fog ! Her temples yawned 

At the fierce blows, that in such hours are 
The stroke that breaks the seal of every bond 



THE NATIONAL GLORIA. \ 

Of peace and quietude. Her brilliant star 
Swung low at last, with blighted hopes beyond 

On Abram's height Montcalm was blest : 
His front was bold De Bogainville ! 

While far below the mountain crest 
Lay many a sleepless sentinel. 

He may have dreamed ; but in that dream 
The charming thought was victory ; 

For he had held the noted stream 
With mighty fleet — Montmorency. 

And like a king upon his throne, 

With troop of army at his call, 
He deemed that nature not alone 

Surrounded him with her steep wall ! 

He deemed for him a sweet repose. 

After a battle had been v/on ; 
Five hundred of his fiercest foes 

Next morn were gory in the sun ! 

But in that night his fate was told ; 

For down the stream an army bent, — 
Men that were young, but staunch and bold, 

Who were to climb his battlement. 

As still as death, in dread surprise. 
They scaled the heights of Abraham ! 
F 



82 THE NATIONAL GLORIA. 

And, when the sun was in the skies, 
Amid the wounded lay Montcalm ! 

A Wolfe was dying on the field. 

But heard the words of victory ! 
'Twas sweet; he smiled, in death to yield, . 

After he heard them shout, " They fly ! " 

And thus the Victor and the Conquered fell ! 

And with them, bleeding, lay their countrymen, 
Felled with the brute-like Indian of the plain ! 

Montcalm was brave, and died, as he had been, 
A warrior tried : he struggled with his pain : 

He longed for death before he heard the knell 
Of fated Quebec, or of British gain: 

He died as soon ; nor lived to feel the spell, 
The shock that told on Quebec's last remain ! 

How different the lives of great men are! 

How very different may be the death ! 
Though seemingly in war they fall the same, 

A Wolfe was happy in his parting breath ; 
For he had fought and gained for him a name, 

A name that he had been a conqueror : 
Contrast it with the death of him whose fame 

.Was only bravery ; though born a star 
To perish by another brighter flame ! 

'T is all the same in Death : not to the dying. 
For fame may ease a warrior's suffering. 
And kill the sting of torturing agony ; 



THE NATIONAL GLORIA. 83 

Yet, to the dying conquered, there 's a sting 
That racks the frame with other misery. 

Methinks 't were sad to see such warrior lying 
Torn by a ball, or quelled by victory. 

'Twere sad to hear such noble image sighing, 
But sadder still such fallen form to be ! 

But Quebec fell ! All Britain did rejoice ; 

America had blessings for the hour. 
For peace was looming in the ether sky : 

America beheld one trouble o'er, 
And saw one shadow of its gloom pass by ; 

Heard, too, the music of a poet's voice. 
Singing " Gray's Elegy ! " He now doth lie 

A martyr to that fame, though not his choice, 
Whose flame shall live, whose name shall never 
die. 

But Fate, that chooses for its victims, still 

Shall summon youth unto a gen'rous call ; 
Naming them soldkrs — or for something more 

Shall deal them out — and they shall rise and 
fall; 
Be kings, or statesmen, — or like men of yore. 

But sad it is, when call'd against the will. 
To fall on bloody fields, and stained with gore. 

Captured by foe and death; as on that hill 
Fate marked Montcalm, who wasted with his 
store ! 



84 THE NATIONAL GLORIA. 

'T was there Montgomery's doom, in after years, 

Was likewise sealed, when seeking victory 
'Neath freedom's flag, that then began to wave ; 

His country was his motto ; and to be 
Among her sons, he could, not live a slave : 

But he has fallen ! and many were the tears 
The people shed — those he had fought to save : 

York claims her worthy son, and still endears 
The noble name, Montgomery, — true and brave! 

There Arnold in his icy fortress lay, 

Barring the city from the outer world. 
Defying storm and winter in his hold ; 

In those December winds he was not furled ; 
But stood the nightly blasts ! his gentle fold 

Beheld the roaring lion close at bay : — 
Yet Arnold gave his liberty for gold. 

And faded like a shriv'ling leaf away 
In the hot sun, that paints the fairy wold. 

But hush the tale. 'T is naught in youth to err, 

'T is human that mankind shall suffer wrong, 
To lead them from the paths of virtue true ; 

But happy is the heart, with voice of song. 
Of him who dares his dying past review — 

To feel that he has been as others were. 
For good and glory ! Then there is no clue 

To deeds of shame, for he, a conqueror. 
Within his life bade such frail themes adieu. 



THE NATIONAL GLORIA. 85 

All this makes up the Vision ! yet sad sight 

It is to see the folly of the great ; 
For with their glory be their weakness shown, 

When elevated in the world of state, 
Grounded on that they claim to be their throne ; 

While far beneath them be eternal night, 
In which they durst not fall ; and yet they own 

A world of viewers ! some in meagre plight 
Look up to them, nor deem them gods alone ! 

Yet is it all a Vision ? Who can tell, 

If living, we are dreaming life away, — 
Such life that is for naught ? like to a gleam 

Whose fire goes out with each succeeding ray. 
With all things left at last, but born to seem, 

To die away like a poetic swell ; 
Which to Eternity's more holy beam 

Would be but a faint vision : yet 't is well. 
We deem life true, while floating down its stream ! 

Nor Greece, nor Rome, while looking on the past. 

Can either deem such life has not been real, 
Though like a dream their monuments arise, 

Planted in history : the Ideal 
Seems with this mighty mass all to comprise 

The fabled and the true ! the glory past 
Is like a tale once written in the skies, 

At which we read in vain : and all at last 
Seems like a dream, whose picture gently dies. 



86 THE NATIONAL GLORIA. 

Yet I havQ. seen a shatter'd ruin fall, 

With those emoluments it named its own, 
Whose fame is but a worsted parody: 

There was a day when, full of beauty grown, 
That temple blushed, like to a blooming tree. 

But bore no fruit. With damsels fair and tall 
The dance went on ; and music merrily 

Resounded in the tabernacle's hall, 
Where voice was cheer, and eyes were full of glee ! 

Such could be sung of Blennerhasset's fame, 

The temple of his early pride and joys. 
Where peace and plenty smiled at eve — in morn 

Beauty was his : his home a home of toys, 
Where spirits sought elation when forlorn 

By a huge task, within the world of gain : 
But that is past : it ceases to adorn 

The marble of my verses : for with pain 
I see it now ! it is a Temple torn. 

The nation's Worth takes little heed of this, 

For it is soon passed by ; yet other tales, 
Ennobled by the painter and the pen. 

Be much more beautiful ! The hills and dales 
Where battles have been won, and honor been 

Raised with the Banner, golden with the bliss 
Of earthly freedom, paled when battle din 

Was waging wildly — is a theme for this 
I tune my harp ! why should I not begin ? 



THE NATIONAL GLORIA. 8/ 

Yet Peace! the mother of prosperity, 

The calm that follows war and sorrow, too, 
And the inventor of the sweet and pure : 

Aye ! yes, calm Peace ! that peace which never 
knew 
The plague of pestilence, nor could endure 

The eye of scorn, nor Satan's imagery : 
Thy bosom is in tender life secure 

From petty factions and weak broils that be 
Born to mankind, who threaten and allure. 

The savage wars of frenzied Pontiac, 

Whose prophet breathed throughout the wilder- 
ness 
That poisonous breath by which so many died, 
- Live but in name ! A thousand in distress 
Fell by the hand who deemed their hero tried, 

Who, like a terror, left his horrid track 
On history's helm. His vision was denied; 

His glory seems the same, when I gaze back, 
As other fiends, who perished in their pride. 

The Shawnees and the Senecas were his, 

An.d the Miamis, of the bold and bright. 
Came forward with the arrow and the bow ! 

And many a garrison at dead of night 
Received by him the ever fatal blow ! 

He was a Philip ! and his history is 
The tale of one who even deemed to know 

The fate of his frail people then ; and 't is 
Too true that they were poisoned by their foe! 



88 THE NATIONAL GLORIA. 

To arms ! To arms ! methinks I hear the call ! 

Methinks I see the savage eye respond, 
And know the answer from the rough-scarred 
breasts 

Of those who felt the pressing foe beyond, 
Who now trod over them ! Their hero rests, 

Bled by assassin hand, and doomed to fall 
To death without his honors ! There were guests 

Within that day, and one drew o'er the pall, 
'Neath which he sleeps at last, his fate behests. 

The war-whoop and the yell, the light canoe, 

The hound, the steed, the implements of war! 
The terror of the break from ambuscade ! 

And the loud voice of him who reigns a star, 
While rushing headlong down some rocky glade, 

Or climbing some steep precipice, in lieu 
Of captivating or of seeking prey ! and to invade 

The peaks o'er which the lusty eagle flew : 
The Red Man's pride ! the pleasure of his grade ! 

The Andean heights ! The Blue Ridge's lofty 
peaks, 

The plains that stretch across from shore to shore, 
He claimed in former time ; with joy to roam 

O'er spreading pampas wild ! To him the roar 
Of the cascade and its encircling foam 

Was all his own : and where each river streaks 
Across the plain he reared his humble tome, 



THE NATIONAL GLORIA. 89 

Planted his vine where now the pale-face seeks 
To build his city, or decorate his home ! 

But where are they ? the Cherokees, the Sioux, 

The warlike bands, whose wigwams now are 
gone 
Deep in the dust that cumbered them before ? 

The music of their war song, too, is done ; 
Their tree is dead which once so fruitful bore, 

And the big Earth with all its beauty woos 
To it more lasting virtue than of yore ! 

And faint tradition tells of those who use 
To march to war, but bear their arms no more ! 

There is a Mound in yonder dying wood, 

Reared not by nature, but by human skill, 
Where sleeps a chieftain and his little band : 

A Nation's fortune lies beneath that hill, 
A Nation's pride, in feeble state as grand. 

Sleeps in that rude abode ! There may have 
stood 
A tree in former times, that fails to stand 

Upon its crest, a monument which should 
Bear mark of those who shifted like the sand ! 

They had their glory ! and in former day 
Sung their sweet songs in music deep, and 
great, 
To some famed spirit, an imploring prayer ; 

8* 



90 THE NATIONAL GLORIA. . 

But now to them no statue rears in state 
The hidden version of their deeds to bear: 

No volume bears the pages of a lay, 
Their muse inspired as Greeks and Romans are, 

The dead yet living; sung (though past away) 
By living tongues, which tell how once they were. 

And there they lie! Hid with their traps of 
war, 

Shut from the world — forgetting, not forgot: — 
An army of the troop of savage life ; 

There the ambitious with the weak shall rot, 
The horsemen, and the famed with bowie-knife ! 

The marksman and the mighty orator. 
Are mingled in the dust: the man, the wife, 

The prophet, and the famed philosopher. 
No more shall breathe within the world of strife ! 

And over them the sod is growing green, 

High over which the giant walnut waves ; 
Where the wild brier in its swiftness grows. 

Near where the rustling brook is borne. Their 
graves 
Are where the herd at noon-time often goes, 

From summer suns, beneath the walnut screen. 
Which o'er the mound as calm and gently bows, 

Cooling the lazy air. Where may be seen 
The stern white men, the sleepers' fiercest foes ! 



THE NATIONAL GLORIA. 9 1 

Yet in that brook, that bubbles gently by, 

Or in the music of its euphony 
Of guttural tones, that die upon the breeze, 

I think there is a tale of those that be 
Heaped in that mound, beneath the lofty trees ! 

A tale of sadness; something even that I 
Feel as I sit and listen by degrees 

At the quaint murmur ! — sweet it is to lie, 
To dote on this, and hear the buzzing bees ! 

More dear than this my lone meanderings 

Within the mountain path, that leads away 
By the wild rose, that yields its famed perfume ; 

Where, from on high, a mossy rock and gray 
Looks on the deep below ! 'T is where the boom 

Of distant cataract forever sings ! 
'Tis where the Red Man sleeps in shallov/ tomb ! 

'T is where the eagle rests his weary wings ! 
And where, more sweet, the flow'rets gently bloom ! 

'Tis where the cool spring from the fissure 
creeps. 

And drips from rock to rock — then pours av/ay 
In the deep crevice, where a louder rill 

From out the gorge usurps it in its sway, 
And rolls along in rhapsody to spill 

It in the lake below ; where the moon peeps 
Over the precipice upon the hill ; 



92 THE NATIONAL GLORIA. 

Through brake beginning now to bloom ! where 
keeps 
The lonesome bird, the nightly whippoorwill. 

Beneath a shady tree to sit and dream 

Of all the world — within a wilderness — 
While aided by the mountain scene sublime, 

Is blissful to the mind ! Oh ! who can guess 
Th' emotions of the soul in such a time, 

When the bright sun, in daylight's holy beam, 
Comes o'er the hillock's brow; where in its 
prime 

The shaggy hawthorn gladly 'gins to teem. 
And far beneath the wild vines 'gin to climb ! 

While in this stead, with all the world forgot. 

Dreaming, though not asleep to nature's wold, 
Forgot by all the friends of human kind, 

I sit and sing! The song may be untold, — 
It tells of naught, — of a distracted mind. 

That knows no words of comfort, and is not 
The spirit one would seek by choice to find. 

When in the world's broad path that leads the 
spot, 
Where peace is sweet, where beauty loves to wind. 

Yet by the bended elm, upon yon slope, 

The bank is wasting in the wave below. 

Which bears away, in every heaving heap, 



THE NATIONAL GLORIA. 93 

That destined clay ! High over it the snow 
Upon its mighty walls appears to weep 

At best a wave-wiped tear : its dew doth grope 
Along the crevice, silently to creep 

Into the rill, whose bosom seems to ope 
To take the whole in one stupendous sweep ! 

Yet by the bended elm-tree, gently bowed 

(Though not with age), there is a lovely place, 
A shady nook, where doth the woodbine twine ! 

The owl sits moping in its feline grace, 
Peering with lusty eyes betwixt the vine, 

Waking the forest with its hooting loud, 
It murmurs to the night ! Its great eyes shine 

Like diamond globes. Its hooting seems to 
crowd 
Into the soul, to wake the whisp'ring Nine ! 

There is a bower by the mountain path, — 

A solitude. Though lonely, not alone, 
A one might sit and dream his early dreams ; 

Where ivy overhead is thickly grown. 
And on the earth the moss in beauty beams. 

'Twas so in days of yore. Not there God's 
wrath 
From out the hurricane came forth ; yet gleams 

Of present glory still are here. Men scal'th 
Not yet that mount where still the Condor screams ! 



94 THE NATIONAL GLORIA. 

Far o'er the gray bank, grim and desolate, 

The wild flock flutters in the sea-born air ! 
Threat'ning the craggy peaks that mock the sky, 

That lowers upon the rocky heights, as bare 
And bleak as if an untold destiny 

Burned in the mount below ; the fire of fate 
Smuggled in the quaint-lit vaults there be 

The home of the volcano, form'd in state. 
Soon to break forth a thund'ring, livid sea ! 

There is an alley m this mountain vale, 

Deep, dark, fantastic, and of haunted fame. 
The home of spirits, and the place of drear! 

Where mortals never visit with an aim 
Of being comforted with life — to hear 

Sweet music steal upon the ocean gale, 
Or to behold all things beloved and dear 

Lift up in beauty, with voluptuous sail, 
Where high in gloom those mountain peaks arear. 

The clanking Chain ! the Andean rugged band ! 

Lo ! we have seen thee in a former year ; 
And we have followed long thro' links and turns. 

And felt sublimity, until with fear 
Our soul was quelled within us, which still learns 

That, by recalling of that high-capp'd land. 
With other views of it, the breast still yearns. 

Which felt at Panama its rising, and 
Traced it down till Terra del Fuego burns ! 



THE NATIONAL GLORIA. 95 



CANTO VI. 

Unto the Nation's pride the cannon roars ! 

Its music steals along the azure skies, 
Pouring from out a mighty citadel ! 

Unto its birth a thousand bosoms rise, 
Unto its tone a thousand harpstrings swell, 

With the loud drum, whose booming gayly pours 
Upon the wind, winging o'er hill and dell, 

Then fades away — another sounding soars 
Along the plain, and thunders o'er the Tel ! 

Unto the Nation's glory still is reared 

The banners of the bold and beautiful ! 
The flag on high, in streaming colors wild, 

Waves on the air ! Unnumbered trappings tell 
Of Freedom pure, nor Liberty defiled : 

And the great mottoes that each bound endeared 
In days long past, are still in splendor stilcd 

On arms that speak of Unity, revered. 
By breasts of weight, by bosoms beating mild ! 

Nor Pomp, nor Beauty, all have died away. 
Nor armory that gives to life the cheer. 

That lifts the souls from slumber to the call 
To crush the deeds to every Nation dire 

By which the towers of Liberty might fall : 



96 THE NATIONAL GLORIA. 

Behold how once they trembled in a da}^ 
Behold how her broad fields were bleeding all ! 

When the huge mortars lit our meadows gray, 
And blacked our towns with many a ruined wall ! 

From yonder height the minion stars aglow ! 

Thro' yonder vale the gaudy stripes are borne, 
With telephonic fife ! hark to the sound ! 

As sweet the notes as ft-om a bugle-horn 
When rousing up the hunter and the hound, 

When the fleet deer is tracing o'er the snow. 
To mark its living time by every bound, 

Chased by the fierce blood-dogs, with teeth 
aglow, 
And feet that mark in terror on the ground ! 

An Army moves ! Hear ye the tread of men ? 

Hear ye the tramp of clattering hoofs afar? 
The deep-mouthed cannon as it rocks our fane ? 

The first great monitor that speaks of war, 
The engine Death, that shakes its own domain, 

Standing a giant, and on field, in glen. 
Or on some steep, commanding blood and gain? 

The same to-day as it has ever been, 
The last to gape on a deserted plain ! 

An Army moves ! Mark ye their bloody course; 
Plunder and rapine follow in the stead. 
While dread destruction sits on every hand ! 



THE NATIONAL GLORIA. 97 

Upon the fields the faint and gory head 
Lifts up a voice of pity from the band 

That fought in vain ! The ghastly, groaning 
horse ! 
The dead ! the carcasses strewn o'er the land, 

Lie rotting in the sun ! While on, in force, 
The front in shouts of Glory still expand ! 

Full many a foe such deathly troops have 
known 

In former time, in recent battling past, 
When a great nation felt its trembling tread ! 

When a proud people, with her trophies vast. 
Feared not for good their noblest blood to shed : 

Then were the rocks from some huge fortress 
thrown ! 
Then were the rivulets run streaming red ! 

Drunk by an ocean's solitary moan ! 
The endless realm — the vision of the dead ! 

Nor Bunker bore the funeral march in vain. 

Nor Saratoga's heaps of citizens. 
Torn by the foe, ungarlanded now sleep ! 

'T is thus for good each move to glory ends : 
Though they have died, Posterity shall reap 

The famed reward : for every sigh of pain 
The parent gave, who lies within that heap, 

A blessing rests on him who dares remain 

To deck their grave, or watch the willow weep. 
9 G 



98 THE NATIONAL GLORIA. 

On Lexington and Concord battle-grounds 
Flamed the first guns that struck the notes of 



war 



Breathing a Revolution's holy ire ! 

Her fields bear still for history that scar 
Marked by the earliest dawn of Freedom's fire ; 

Behold ! how glorious now the anthem sounds 
That filled the breast with Victory's desire ! 

Behold ! how still the beating bosom bounds 
At the quaint notes, breathed from a patriot's 
Lyre ! 

Yet, for the first guns that oped the Revolution 

There was a grasp by strong and flinchless 
hand, 
Aided by Cause and spirit from a God. 

Then had they been a persecuted band. 
Yoked by a tyrant, whither might they trod ? 

And but one problem needed a solution : 
'T was " Liberty or Death ! " they raised the rod, 

The golden wand that marked a constitution 
To which a nation stoops, a kingdom bowed ! 

They struggled fiercely on the Brandywine, 
Where now the turf to memory is Greene, 

But all whose glory is not given to Wayne : 
Pulaski lives unto the fiery scene ! 

And Sullivan, once battling on the plain 



THE NATIOXAL GLORIA. 99 

With Hessian troops, did in the day decline, 
After withstanding shot that fell like rain. 

Yet after fields like this, the host divine 
Clutched with more gripe the sword that mark'd 
the slain ! 

Fort Mercer speaks of wondrous victory ! 

Donap's ambition and his last lament: 
The flood of shot that took him by surprise, 

And the hot balls that tore his regiment. 
To send his vision whirring to the skies, 

Be but the strokes that made our country free, 
And broke the chain that Liberty denies. 

By this the strain of golden poesy 
Hymns high their praise, whose anthems wildly 
rise ! 

Yet dark to memory be Valley Forge, 

When gloom of savage hunger o'er the camp 
Consumed the flame the Nation needed most ; 

That selfsame torch for Freedom's blazing lamp 
Died from the touch ; and needed life was lost. 

The hand of God seem'd in that day to scourge 
The patriot who chanced to be a host 

In that cold clime ; upon the very verge 
Of quitting triumph, and its early boast. 

Yet as the doom of humans must be marked 
Indelibly — by stains not wiped away 
By fleety time — so has it left the brand 



lOO THE NATIONAL GLORIA. 

Upon the rocks of hills moss-grown or gray, 
How perished many of this potent band : 

Yet now we weep no more, of deeds that darked 
With kindred blood the streamlets of the land. 

In those famed years of strife, when sparked 
The first faint stars that glittered o'er the strand. 

But they were born the sons of Liberty ; 

The fathers, too, unto a mighty cause, 
To whom were bred a people of the song, 

Mightier in strength than still the parent was ! 
Who for politic life shall tarry long 

When the dark days o'erhead pretend to be 
The gaudy Temple of our joys to wrong, 

Or shake its throne ! Behold its pleasantry ! 
Behold its power ! Its battlements are strong ! 

Yea ! Mighty era ! From thy holy train 

Of living grandeur springs the pride of state, 
From whence unfolds a country's noble crown, 

A wealth inestimable! Behold how Fate 
Caused troops of discipline to be o'erthrown, 

To plant the standard of a warrior's gain 
Upon a soil a king had claimed his own. 

Where now our bulwarks on the land remain, 
To tell to kings we stand, — and stand alone! 

On many a field the spirit of the sire 
Led forth by heroes some commanding van, 
With sparse munition, but with ready skill, 



THE NATIONAL GLORIA. 10 1 

Showing the true weight of the might of man, — 
As be it shown on Bemus's lofty hill, 

Where Gates threw ope unto the deadly fire 
Of the keen foe, who sought that day to spill 

The lead of his artillery with ire, 
A front — but left five hundred cold and still ! 

Nor are these glories past ! The Cycles turn 

To us the days of halcyon splendor now ! 
Wherein we tune unto their early praise ; 

We rear our cits, and push the sturdy plough. 
And smile, for " peace " is written in our lays, 

With honor carved the same. Young hearts 
may burn 
For fame, and all a youthful dream essays ; 

But every quenchless fire — though breast be 
stern 
From whence it glows — must blow with holy blaze. 

Famed site of Boston ! There roared Putnam's 
gun! 

The Congress of his pride a thunderer ! 
That faced the stupid and retreating Howe. 

Iron of Death it wheeled on Dorchester ! 
Methinks I see its sturdy picture now ; 

Methinks I hear its deadly booming stun 
And shake the earth upon that trembling brow ! 

Congress of yore! thy noble work is done; 
Thy hero sleeps, the prince of many a blow ! 
9* 



102 THE NATIONAL GLORIA. 

Now Boston breathes her peaceful quiet out ; 

The poet's home — the Site of wealth and fame, 
With scarce a mark that tells of former wails, 

No black nor doomy wall of former flame 
Within her stead such model yet prevails : 

Her streams are pure that float around about 
Still, upon which the ship of Freedom sails ! 

No more the cannon stands in the redoubt : 
No more it quakes, or parts the quavering gales ! 

But I must sing of famous Ones of yore. 

For deep the pathos sinks into the mind, ^ 
To wake the spirit to an early hymn : 

Muse patriotic ! Leave not now behind 
The uninvoked, but lift each living limb 

Unto a song of that which, long before 
Our little day, filled bosoms to the brim 

With that which drove our tender bark ashore 
From out the wave, of tempests drear and dim ! • 

What shall illume more beautiful the dead 

Than a Poetic tale of all that glowed 
Around the altar's patrimonial store? 

Nothing shall crush the genial episode 
That tells of those whose little day is o'er; 

Sweet to the memory of those who fled. 
To sleep in peace and quiet evermore ; 

This monument stands by the lowly head. 
Disturbed by ne nine cannon's doomy roar ! 



THE NATIONAL GLORIA. IO3 

Sweet to their Memory ! For in the grave 

The consecrated earth shall be their bed ; 
Their greatest blessing be a " calm repose," 

Garlanded with wreaths, whose sweet perfume 
may shed 
Unto the fondling breeze that gently blows 

High o'er the tomb ! We give, as once they 
gave, 
The wreath that, holds the never-fading rose : — 

And by this tomb plant evergreens, to wave 
The living tokens of their cryptic woes! 

And thus may rest a Webster, a Calhoun, 

A Patrick Henry, and the statesman Clay, — 
Republic's pride, — whose glory still shall shine, 

After a thousand years have gone away, 
With all the eloquence earth may divine, — 

All store that fame can give. Still in the 
noon 
Of their meridian, within the line 

Of eulogy by man, they stand the boon 
To living light, whose sun shall ne'er decline ! 

Like to all ages there were envious eyes 
Seeking to gloat on misery for fame. 

Which lived to see their dreams disconsolate ; 
Braddock but perished by an untrue flame, 

That marked by downfall his impending fate 



104 THE NATION'AL GLORIA. 

Within a wilderness, 'neath angry skies, 
Withered his Httle host, in horrid state ; 

But there was one who stood the balls and cries 
In that grim sky, of looks so desolate. 

That rugged path, bestrewn by many a slain, 

Still fresh, and gory, and so very drear, 
Had felt the tramp of an ill-guided force : 

There by the rocks fell with a blow severe 
Men seeking mercy from a brutal source. 

Instead of some fond friend, to soothe their 
pain, 
The glaring knife still tore them, bleeding worse ; 

Instead of balm, their fortune was the bane 
Of heinous smiles, no pity could coerce ! 

Morality but asks a burial 

Of stricken frames misfortune bade to fall : 
But begs no work of art to stand a tomb. 

Carved nor unlettered ; whose protruding wall 
Might tell of war, and its fantastic gloom ! 

Nature hath monuments that this may tell. 
Though not in letters — it will quote their doom. 

While lives Tradition, by the hill or dell 
Where wild flowers blow, or where they cease to 
bloom. 

By that vain spot the ruthless weed may grow, 
A thistle breed its thorny leaflets out. 
Where smuggled ivy bloometh, but in vain : — 



THE NATIONAL GLORIA. IO5 

The tall trees swing their branches still about, 
Over the spot where once the form was lain ; 

Gnawed by the wolf so many years ago, 
The man would not be known as man again ; 

Chilled by the blasts of many a winter's snow, 
And, too, unhid from many a bleaching rain ! 

Some little rose may bloom upon the spot 

Where they may rest unnoticed ; where of yore 
The red rose may have known a deeper dye. 

Than ere the same in Nature ever wore ; 
In days of peace and in a calmer sky. 

That victim's name may now all be forgot; 
That victim's bravery we may pass by ; 

The cause shall live that thither cast his lot, 
A worthy theme, that plants its name on high ! 

But there are noble Visions of the past. 

More beautifully shown, much more arrayed. 
By that which lifts us to the early light : 

Struck by colonial skill, whose hand hath made 
Our temple loom up to the mind as bright, 

Like to an unbarred sun ! Our dart is cast ; 
Behold it fly ! re-echoing to the sight, 

A token of a region sung at last 
In hymns of peace, in strains of power and might! 

What were a Name ? — It is a monument ! 

With its long train, heroic deeds are read, 

Whose kingly honor none shall ere dispute : 



I06 THE NATIONAL GLORIA. 

It is a blessing that rests o'er the dead, 
When the cold lips in quietude are mute : 

Though deep at earth the crumbling form is pent, 
Worthiest of men come forward to salute 

His noted resting : for his course was bent 
To that fair Grove which bears no bitter fruit ! 

But there are names on hist'ry's helm that be 

Unchanted by the praise of any bard, 
Nor famed at best. But shall they stand untorn ? 

Methinks for them I hear no envious word, 
No day revered wherein they too were born 1 

They live, but only live in infamy, — 
A thing to read of, and a life to scorn : 

A name from which our fiery youths shall flee. 
When they gaze on their temple, scaled and worn ! 

Perhaps they rest the same in their abode, 

Nor dreams disturbing wake thejr lowly peace, 
Shut from the world and its intruding gaze ; 

But shall their flame inflamed on earth e'er cease 
To be in living writ unholy phrase? 

Or shall the vigils of eternal God 
Sing round their tombs eulogiums to their praise? 

Yet shall, where they now rest, unhallow'd sod 
Shut out etern, their most inducing rays ? 

How might a Tarleton sleep! Colonial brave ! 
The man of might and many promises ? 
Aye ! much more glorious be Sumter's reign, 



THE NATIONAL GLORIA. 10/ 

Whose cause be worthiest ! and proudly is 
The monument that spake of living gain. 

But let. that pass. I seek not now to crave 
A hero's lair, nor lift him from the main, 

Nor shake the ashes of the hidden grave, 
Nor rear a stone to those who fought in vain ! 

But Sumter stands ! A famous barrier wall 

No foreign armament can break away ! 
Nor umpire durst her rocky portal scale. 

Though blazed as oft by battle's fierce array, 
Her Flag, though torn, lifts to the ocean gale 

High over which the Eagle's screaming call, 
Endears the tie that felt the fiery wail 

Which shook the throne of Liberty with pall, 
Nor broke its bounds, nor blacked its massy sail ! 

Ages may pass o'er Sumter's doomy breast. 

And mark with tare her boasted burial-ground ! 
Or deck her stone with creeping mosses green ! 

Still o'er her walls the flag shall wave around 
The motto of the power that has been 

The spirit that upheld her head, and blest 
That crown she wears of honor, still serene, 

Where oft the cannon lit her glaring crest; 
And still her powder-beaten port is seen! 

This is our pride ! the boast of continent 
On which we gaze with bosoms of delight. 
And hymn our praise in music loft and wild ! 



I08 THE NATIONAL GLORIA. 

Such be our theme ! the song of quicken'd flight, 
As bold and beautiful, yet meek and mild, — 

As mild when with the weird muse is blent 
That which sings soothe to warriors undefiled, 

Resting within that earth : a regiment * 
Of men in Death, beneath that tombstone piled ! 

This is our fame ! To stand while blood and 
storm 

Wheel round our battlements with furious ire, 
And fret with terror our increasing pride ! 

Forth from the gloom of death's protruding 
fire. 
The banner on the either wind shall ride, 

Borne by heroic men of noble form. 
Whose names immortal shall look out the tried 

Like to so many stars ! They give alarm 
When a dark cloud rolls up its thund'ring tide ! 

Yet shall I close my hymn, to sing again 

Of wars and triumph, and the destiny 
Of those who fell in glory or in shame ? 

What now is lettered as indelibly 
Shall stand unto the parent's living fame 

A monument ! the meek and lowly strain 
Of him who only sings, but bears no blame ; 

*If it be honor, or a lasting stain, 
Mark ye the work that gave it holy flame ! 



THE NATIONAL GLORIA. IO9 

I cease my hymn ! If, should I sing again. 

More worthy theme cannot in poesy 
Reward the goddess, Freedom still shall spare 

Of whom I sung; because her name should be 
High on the trophy beaming in the air! 

And this is writ: It stands to human lore 
A statue ! and as beautifully fair 

As e'er a base of marble ever bore 
In pride of state, a Vision bold and rare ! 



CANTO VII. 

The day is tenebrous ! A dark cloud swings 

Its sweven o'er the cold and mourning lea; 
Lugubrious echoes mock my lyric tone 

With ghoul-like voices, coming up to me. 
I would not — dare not — always live alone, 

Nor ev'n wjth loved ones, where the coo-dove 
sings 
Its moaning sounds — aye, saddest, drearest moan ! 

It makes me think of very sacred things — 
It makes me weep for some poor mortal gone ! 

This, but a thunder-cloud of ebon hue, 
Whose quick, red glare has died out with a blaze, 

Hath left a trembling tenement on earth, 
With dancing panes — then a quietus plays 

Where reinstated stands the frames of worth ; 



no THE NATIONAL GLORIA. 

Aye! we remember how the bleak winds blew, 
And wrapped our walls with grim and crushing 
girth, 
Relenting only but to wrap anew 
More dread its clasp, and give more groaning 
birth. 

Aged trees, on mounts like garnet- headed steeps, 

Are torn and barkless by the winds of time; 
Whose dread hibernal wrasping tears away 

The faithful tendrils of the vines that climb, 
As if to vainly cheer the horned tree — gray, 

Gray as a rock — green with the ivy creeps — 
Old with sped years — young with companion 
gay, 

That clings till death, and with the dew-drop 
weeps 
Around the form that soon must pass away ! 

Some ghost-like spirits wander round the glen, 

Some troubled shadows thro' the gloomy furze 
Glide on the granite, cut in humble tomb. 

Where oft the shrivelled leaflet keenly stirs. 
And where the honeysuckle sheds perfume. 

Sad souls, exhumed, come back to earth again ! 
Ah ! thou immortal sprites of blackest gloom, 

Make vivid tableau o'er the graves of men, — 
As if Death's crate bore not sufficient doom ! 



THE NATIONAL GLORIA. Ill 

Departed shades ! Grim with a second life ! 

Oh ! terror-striking wanderers of ways, 
And haunts of caves, no mortal follows in, — 

Dark shadows, where the sun breeds not its 
rays, 
And where the moon's faint light hath never been ! 

Along the rock-paved floor thy feet seem rife : 
Ye work out punishments of long gone sin, 

Or make atonement for ungodly strife, 
In renewed lives of drear ye now begin ! 

Portentous signs ! Aye ! weird, desolate wold, 

Have we not read some admonition oft, 
That told us of the shades that wander here ? 

Told us of aspects — they that hang aloft. 
Inditing Pan to sing his moans of fear ? 

I hear his rustling minstrels, and behold 
y^olian sitting in his cloister near ! 

Hist ! there the tread of some one gray and old 
Goes round the tomb, to find a dead one dear ! 

Up yonder, where the hoar walls of the mount 

Are nursing vapory clouds unto their stones 
Of layers swetting with the limpid dew. 

The vainly grasping oak of dying groans 
Hangs in the fissures where the glebe withdrew ; 

The eagle doth these grinning steeps surmount 
On monarch wings — on pinions stanch and true. 

And alar damps rise from the gushing fount. 
As if they would these skies of heaven imbrue ! 



I 1 2 THE NA TIONAL GL ORIA. 

Some feline beast rapacious leaves its trace 

And prints of darkling clutches on the trees ; 
And on the wasting clay that mops the walls 

Its shedded fur is feathery to the breeze. 
The mountain bird goes round with mystic calls, 

And gathers up to build in lofty place ; 
Wings wildly past the black, cavernous stalls, 

Up to the sunlight, where the spraylets chase 
In vain the ice-drop dripping round the halls. 

Upon the mountain do I love to rove 

In mystic groves, amid the bloom of flowers, 
Where nature's wealth in lovely majesty 

Creates sweet solitude and gladsome hours ; 
And sweeter the aroma seems to be 

Of the wild rose in this aerial grove ; 
And fresh comes up the zephyrs from the lea, — 

Pure mountain breaths, which I respire and love 
To fill my soul with magnanimity. 

To look o'er dreamy dells, where lowing kine 

Meander by the sheeny, babbling stream. 
And watch the vapors gather into cloud. 

And see the sunlit orfray's genial gleam, 
I almost feel my bosom sing aloud 

Bright mountant strains, when gazing 'long the 
line 
Of distant rearing peaks — like monarchs, proud. 

Proud of their reign supreme. With voice divine, 
They wrap their heads in winter's glacious shroud. 



THE NATIONAL GLORIA. II3 

I see a hermit in declining years, 

With snowy locks, with feeble pace and slow. 
Go wandering by the wave-worn, clay-like bank, 

Where the pellucid waters gently flow ; 
Where often in his youth these joys he drank. 

And filled his shell again: — But not with 
fears. 
Beside the fount, in other years he sank ; 

Nor deemed so soon departing days and tears 
Would leave that cheek, so coldy lean and lank ! 

In these weird regions gentle Fairy dwells ; 
With music strains she haunts the bowers of 
peace, 
A wild-wood minstrel, with perlaceous eyes : 

Most beautiful her songs, that seldom cease 
To send their happy murmur to the skies ! 

Age never comes to her, — nor dream fore- 
tells 
What umber clouds the morrow will surprise, 
Nor contemplation with its madness swells 
Her sweet young breast with dread, lamenting 
sighs ! 

Sweet forest Child ! Where is thy monitor ? 

Old nature's nurtured babe needs no reproof; 
Untaught by wicked world, — in innocence 

Upon the mountain top ye stand, aloof 
From sinful ways : I warn thee go not thence, 
10* H 



114 THE NATIONAL GLORIA. 

To congregate with those in realms afar ; 
But deck these gentle mounds with love ; from 
whence 

Ye count with me the many wiles that mar 
Those other lives, oft hemmed with future dense ! 

A Mome goes forth below us — down the glyn 
A long, loose form, that seems to bend and nod 
Unto his shade. Beneath the cliff he passed, 
His grim, lank limbs, with movement strangely 
odd : 
And long-drawn trace his footstep quaintly cast 
As if to tell where some dark soul had been. 
Long years have called him forth ; and now, at 
last, 
Cavernous rooms have strangely called him in 
To rest his soul, while blows the night-wind's 
blast ! 

The shepherd gayly guards his tinkling fold, 

Down in the glen of pastures growing green; 
And far beyond him wheels his hurried hound. 

Where fast the deer makes traces o'er the scene ! 
And frighted crows shriek o'er the troubled 
ground. "^ 

The cormorant, with rusted beak and old. 
Swoops o'er the basin — lifts up at the sound! 

E'en in the clouds of marble, fringed with gold, 
Dissolves his form, and ceases soaring 'round ! 



THE NA TIONAL GL ORTA. 1 1 5 

Oh ! give to me those time-told eagle wings, 

To soar on silken zephyrs o'er the deep ! 
To view this cosmorama, brightly spread 

In golden glory! I would gladly sweep 
Around like some lone seraph, strangely led, 

Above the silvery waterfall that sings 
Unto the moon ! And with the skies I '11 wed 

My feathery soul, and dream of heavenly things 
That would entrance me, swooping o'er the dead ! 

If Death but make a spirit of our soul, 

And give it wings, that we might ride the vast, 
To see things beautifijl from realms of air, 

I would be hnppier when life is past ! 
Like a free bird, I 'd wander everywhere. 

Paint ye a scene — I 'd see its bloom unroll ; 
Plant ye a park with groves of trees most rare ; 

Plant ye a garden, and gold-pale its goal, 
And I would send my loving spirit there ! 

This would not be a Death ! Elysian life — 

These fields would be the bourne. Elysium ! 
And thou, the cherub whom these sweets attend, 

Would with thy loving angel spirits come, 
And with terrestrial tones thy music blend ! 

And there would be no boundary then rife 
Betwixt these shores ! Earth would emerge and 
tend 

To melt in Heaven : no more toil nor strife 
Would shake our form, or pain us to the end ! 



Il6 THE NATIONAL GLORIA. 

But we must not forget we are but clay ; 

Our souls are bound with those elastic cords 
That bring them back to earth. However great 

The spell that seems to make us greater lords 
Than life possesses, dies out; desolate 

We stand upon these peaks, and sadly say, 
^' How many times the spirit sought its mate, 

But found those unresponding embers lay 
Up to our breasts, and curse our destined fate." 

To live is but to love : without this dream. 

There is no genial feeling in our lives ; 
No unction pouring on our wounds the balm 

That such companion, name of Pleasure, gives. 
We fold her to our bosoms : with soft palm 

She leads us in her sunlight's heavenly gleam ; 
Sings unto us a kindly evening psalm, 

Looks in our face with eyes of sweetest beam, 
And wreathes and makes our lives more gently 
calm. 

What are these livelong days of worthless sighs 

At best, when comfortless we mourn our lot ? 
Age premature slips 'mong our failing hairs, — 

Those hoary threads that cannot be forgot, — 
And lends us down-turned countenance of cares. 

And plants its wrinkles 'round our sunken eyes! 
Not ev'n a smiling-countenance it spares. 

But the dearth bosom sinks no more to rise : 
Sinks in that death that knows not life's repairs. 



THE NATIONAL GLORIA. 11/ 

I have retired from all the world, and live 

In hermitage upon the mountain crest, 
A lonely spirit, with no minister, 

Nor a fair face nor bosom saintly blest; 
Perhaps in this seclusion one might err 

In letting life dissolve, — nor crescent, give 
To those sweet ones of living souls who were 

Linking their former joys with mine, I grieve, 
But wipe again these tears that faintly stir. 

They taught me that life was a fleeting show, 

And vanity mixed with the air we breathed; 
And unkind spirits poured out bitterness 

Upon the chaplets by which heads were 
wreathed : 
That happiness came not without distress, 

And their fair spirit wasted like the snow. 
And then my longing for the world grew less. 

And I ascended from the realms below. 
To hear no groans, nor curse what others bless. 

Below me ! Let me take the glass, and view 

Below this mighty height in clouds of air 
The busy world, repassing — going on! 

Some famous cities, built as if they were 
Homes for the legion — and they seem to dawn 

With fairy splendor — spires of rainbow hue 
Spring up their lights, like diamonds on the lawn, — 

Spring up as oft in matin hours renew 
Their shining light, that in grim night is gone ! 



Il8 THE NATIONAL GLORIA. 

These iridescent hues of lambent glow ; 

And the green waste of panoramic scroll, 
Far spread around, seems beautifully grand ; 

The very distance doth enchant the soul ; — 
The shrubby trees, still sitting on the land ; — 

The knots of wood, where eager huntsmen 
go; — 
The rolling pampas on the either hand ; — 

The cloud-capped mountains, with long year of 
snow ; 
The dreary glen around their mighty stand, 

Where quiet lakes, with blazing silver sheen. 

Are nursed by bowery banks, where birds of 
plume, 
In vernal days, begin to sing and build, — 

We, too, have wandered where the lilies bloom. 
And deemed our cup of happiness was filled, 

While strolling 'round these haunts of nature's 
green ; 
Smellcd the aroma that these flowers extilled: 

We thought our lovers part of this bright scene. 
Till Time came forth — and even those were killed. 

Still in this genial sunshine ladkins lie, 
Or damsels rove to gather their bouquets ; 

And some bright bird is singing to the lake 
Its lovely matin or its evening praise, 

Or builds again within the leafy brake. 



THE NATIONAL GLORIA. II9 

Or soars above into the sweet, clear sky : — 
The graceful fauns, in sportive pranks, awake 

The drowsy noon : The sparrow-hawk, on high, 
Melts in the clouds, like melts an autumn flake. 

The air is filled with murmurings of bees, 

Such kindly strains of heavenly melody: 
The clematis is up the stone built wall ; 

And early leaves are pushing from the tree. 
That waves above the creeping vines, that crawl 

And shoot their tendrils to the tepid breeze : 
The glassy dew of sparkling globules fall 

Upon the mosses from the limbs of trees, — 
From those arcades that form a forest hall ! 

And there huge trees, grown into colonnades, 

Enthroning high in air their shady limbs ; 
The pendant vine, like swinging serpentine. 

Hangs on the cortex, and its shadow dims 
The gladsome earth below, where sometimes 
shine 

The fretting sunlight through the mystic shades, 
Danced by the zephyr in the leaves. Supine, 

Yet beautiful the daisy, where invades 
This soft sunlight, beneath the clinging vine ! 

And then a mossy rideau of young 'flowers. 
And garlands woven by the hands of those 
Whose breathing on them addeth sweet perfume ; 



120 THE NATIONAL GLORIA. 

The tinted pink, the erubescent rose, 
Most beautiful, fair offerings of Hfe's bloom ; — 

Here twigs of evergreen, from sainted bowers, 
Whose aromatic savor we insume 

With honey draughts. Within these golden 
hours, 
In nature's field, we deck her fairy room ! 

These little glories, — they which seem to blaze 

The soul with an affection for the world. 
With comforts that ofttimes do give us cheer, 

Spring up from wildwood groves, and be un- 
furled 
With mystic beauty. But there was a tear 

Startled on maiden's lashes, when dark days 
Of gloom o'erspread these gardens, that appear 

The haunts of love : Unto our troubled gaze 
We see dark ruin, with its pile, appear! 

But Night must gather o'er things beautiful. 

And sadness dim the eyes of those who smile, 
And riches sweep away for poverty. 

To brood o'er wastes where gladness used to 
while ; 
And merry laughter, with its pleasantry, 

In their grim season, finds a gloom to lull 
It even unto death. Beyond we see, 

Thro' a black night : — The vision grows less dull, 
And a thick cloud is swinging o'er the lea ! 



THE NATIONAL GLORIA. 121 

What do I hear ? The earth seems giving way, 

As if 't were rent with a terrific blast 
Of inly fury, some one dared ignite ! 

Ye listen long, and still it be not past. 
The midnight thunder, with its hoarse delight 

And reeking clap, resounds o'er hills grown 
gray 
With heavenly blessings : Peace doth take to flight, 

And morning comes, yet brings no glorious 
ray. 
And all seems dread, as if 't were darkest night ! 

As in a dream, I saw a battle-field, — 

Approaching armies, deathly garbed for war, 
In trembling legions, camping on each hand. 

Upon the North there waved the stripe and 
star, 
And on the South encamp'd a Rebel band ! 

There were heart-rending scenes to me revealed, 
While on the mountain-top I took my stand. 

And saw those squadrons bravely fight, and 
yield. 
And spill their precious blood upon the land ! 

We saw the guns, of mammoth calibre. 
With their terrific thunder rend the air : 

The volleyed columns darkling on the breeze ! 
The crashing forests 'neath the devil dare 

Of iron implement into the trees ! 



122 THE NATIONAL GLORIA. 

Heard the artillery roll on afar ! 
And saw the navy fleets upon the, seas ! 

Respired the breaths that came up from the war — • 
The angry curse no goddess could appease ! 

And many a blooming vale, and flowery glen, 

And fruitful field, felt the battalion's tread! 
Plantations beautiful were but the spoil 

And home of havoc, to intomb the dead 
Who fell in mortal combat and turmoil ; 

And smiling cities shook beneath the din 
Of midnight hate : Long years of manly toil 

Amassed these riches, where the grounds begin 
To count our dead, the dust with Southern soil ! 

And dire destruction sends its shadowy gloom 

O'er verdant glens, turned into battle-ground. 
And broken walls of falling tenement ; 

And desolation, weeping sadly round 
On these dark ravages, together blent 

In panoramic drear! The warrior's doom 
Ye read in all the breezes that are lent 

To whisper o'er a devastation : Tomb 
On tomb we spy, where'er our steps are bent! 

These shattered habitations on the manse. 
Where uninviting havoc coldly spreads 

Despair and hopeless signs ; where souls abide 
Amid these ruins ; where the sunlight sheds 

Reproach as sickly o'er the hopes that died. 



THE NATIONAL GLORIA. 123 

So sadly rear, in ebonlike expanse, 
That I could weep for those so sorely tried ; 

They who have seen the war-horse gayly 
prance, 
And heard the shrieking kinsmen as they died. 

To draw a veil above a blackening scene. 

And hush the cries from battlements of death, 
And wipe the orphan's and the widow's eyes, 

Imbruing their bright cheeks with saddened 
breath, 
Replacing joys instead of lengthy sighs. 

Were my desires : Beyond us is the green 
And crippled sylvan moaning to the skies ; 

The shrouded willow, with a lowly mien, 
Hath hung in mourning, nevermore to rise. 

I stood on the deserted plains of Death, 

Where soldiers built and fell by barricades. 
And thought some strange and weird sounds I 
heard, — 

Sounds like some victim mourning from the 
shades ; 
And thought there came a very ominous bird. 

Grinning above a tomb with- craven breath, 
All nature seemed so still — no leaflet stirred; 

Yqt wailing sounds of spirits from beneath 
Seemed to complain and mourn with broken word! 



124 THE NATIONAL GLORIA. 

Naught but these voices the quietus broke, 

And e'en the passing brook, whereat did spill 
The blood of heroes in the battle roar, 

Seem'd full of sorrow, — calm and quaintly still 
Mopping away eternally the gore 

That tinged its sands ; where once the giant 
stroke 
Of ball and shell its banks uprent and tore, 

And, shivered o'er its living fount, the oak 
Fell, crushed to earth, and sinking evermore ! 

'T is a drear scene. Here hopeful lives were 
wrecked, 

And the strong yeoman bade the world adieu, 
As, with pale lip, breathed up his latest prayer : 

And here it was where Freedom's Eagle flew. 
And a torn banner swung upon the air, 

Bedighted with the stripes and stars — bedecked 
With armory of Northern States, that were 

On the breastplates of men : Dark-flecked 
Those iron brows, that dared sustain its glare ! 

There a dark chasm of bloody deed, and death, 
Deserted homes and habitations dead, 

And crippled orchards, fields with broken shell. 
And barricades, where once fair Ceres spread 

Her golden seeds, all smiling as they fell, 



THE NATIONAL GLORIA. 1 25 

Without a Monitor, that breathed a breath 
Of such destruction in succeeding years. 

There covered o'er the germ she laid beneath, — 
And shame imbrued them with its curse and tears ! 

There Mars went forth! — in midnight-moaning 
pace 

Came forth, and up from out a hecatomb ! 
Pillage and rapine followed in his path, 

And deeds most infamous, wrought in the gloom, 
Seemed but the gleaming glances of his wrath ! 

All things prociduous dared his blows displace, 
And e'en the mountains, nature's firmest hold, 

Stood trembling as he passed ! In his dread race 
The forests fell, and soldiers' blood ran cold. 

These are the ravages of war and hate, 

That flecked the earth with fright'ning violence ! 
And such the darkness of the hellish scene, 

That still seems frowning forth : and drear and 
dense 
The uptorn plains arise. Some shades of green 

Appear to gather o'er lands desolate ; 
But there is writ the terror of its blight, 

That cannot pass away : It be thy fate 
And doom, and dearth, to choose such dreary night. 

Let us depart from desolation : — Go 
Where those enticing glories of the earth 
In thoughtless life are ofttimes lingering. 



126 THE NATIONAL GLORIA. 

And giving a new scenery ever birth, 
Where we forget the bloody chasm — bring 

Us to the bourne where northern gardens glow ; 
Returning only when the shade is past, 

To heal the wounds — then going to and fro, 
We sing with those, of Liberty at last ! 

Let us depart : we have not gazed in vain 

On cities plundered, and bright homes destroyed, 
And smiling vales turned into battle-ground! 

Oh ! could I fill full many an aching void 
With word or deed, thy shores would hear the 
sound ! 

And I would often wander o'er the plain, 
Replace thy broken palaces with love, 

And swear, by halidom, no wars again 
Should plough thy fields, or shake thy gladsome 
grove. 

We now forget it, and we turn away, 

For winter is upon us with its cold : — ■ 
And buxom lasses sing us songs oT cheer ! 

We deem our blessings even manifold, 
For life is opening up a newer year ! 

The nation's flag is waving merrily, 
And centenary songs begin to rise. 

And boldly bright goes up the mystic lay. 
That streams along and wakes the sleeping skies! 



THE NATIONAL GLORIA. 12/ 

The icebound lake, as smooth as Isis's brow, 

Is spread before us with its glassy sheet ; 
Behold the beauties skim along the way : — 

The kissing snows that oft their red lips meet ! 
Behold the passing damsels of the day, 

And hear their ringing shouts of laughter flow, 
And truant forms, — enthusiastic swains 

Catch up their cheery breaths from off the 
snow. 
And sound their notes along these bright domains ! 

. And bordered with the crystal-burdened trees, 
That droop beneath the clutching weight of 
hands. 
Of glacious fingers, taking monk-like hold; 

And crowned with banks of rolling, snow-capp'd 
land. 
And rocky ridges, sweating 'neath the cold. 
Is this translucent deep : Around the leas 
And pampas spread, where cities send their towers 
And spires unto the bleak and groaning breeze, 
And dark snow - storm, and winter's sleeting 
showers ! 

The sound of bells ring up from out the lane, 
And the deep-chested horse of giant tread 

Comes through the driven banks of gathering fleece, 
Or feathery drifts, bedecking mane and head : 

In beauty fall the flakes, which only cease 



128 THE NATIONAL GLORIA. 

Their building towers upon the quilted plain 
When the great sun comes forth, with gladsome 
light, 

Or when the hurried storm of wind and rain 
Melts off the glow, and brings on limpid night! 

The creak of trees, the crash of failing ice, 

Be winter's desultory sounds, that fall 
Upon the stinging zephyr, as it goes 

In wrapping whirlwind round a clattering 
stall. 
Whose tenant feels the pain of winter woes. 

Try to crush out dear life. Like a grim vice 
It presses closer to the aching form ; 

Follows up poverty ; and with taught price 
It haunts frail tenements with horrid storm. 

But, gently undulating to the south, 

We may behold a sunny summer clime 
In an eternal bloom ! On eagle wing, 

Through the bright dream we soar, where 
songsters chime 
And build, and make the moss-grown forest ring, 

Down where the Mississippi's engulf 'd mouth 
Spreads its dark wave. Behold the green 

And growing gardens! Trees that know no 
drouth 
Hang their long shreds of beards upon the scene ! 



THE NATIONAL GLORIA. 1 29 

Amid these orange-fields and lemon-groves, 

And rosy wastes of ever-blooming wild, 
We may retreat from winter's howling storms ; 

We may be by these sunny lakes beguiled, 
Until we 'most dissolve the soul with charms ! 

We go where dwell the creatures and their 
loves 
Basking in shining dales ! Where verdant earth 

Kisses the snowy feet of her who roves, 
A southern queen, or princess of young mirth ! 

Let us go forth : The soul thrives not alone ; 

Let us retrace the little joys of youth. 
And know the pleasure of that kindled spell, 

By having sung to us those songs that soothe 
Our dull, sad ears ! That spell on which we 
dwell, 

And long have dwelt, until 't is truly known 
To be born of us, be the theme of song : 

It but transplants us 'mong the glories grown 
Through time till now. Our strain is deep and 
long ! 

Some cheery minuet comes dancing back. 
And glorious, gladsome eyes within the waltz ; 

And waving locks of tresses, shining bright ; 
And bosoms heaving that are dearth of faults ; 

And tales of love within the starry night, . 

I 



130 THE NATIONAL GLORIA. 

Through the light vista leave their envied track ! 
And golden seasons the espalier be 

With beams of twilight woven round its rack 
Engrailed with joys and pleasures sweet to thee ! 

Where one can rest the soul ! 'T is a repast 

That floods our visions with delights of life, 
And makes elysian even now these dales, • 

Where these fructitious viands are ever rife, 
And lovely noon in laughing tide prevails : 

Vision with cornucopia at last 
Pouring its blessings in our laps of peace! 

Pouring its coin, of purest metal cast, 
Into our folds ; they ring and never cease ! 

But with this grandeur — let us name it not; 

Let us forget the sorrows of those years. 
And magnify the splendor of her days ! 

Forget the bitter wailings, and the tears, 
And think of joys, and ever-ringing praise. 

That still resound ! — And glory not forgot, 
And honor, high enthroned on forum grand, 

Where now the votaries are known : Their lot 
And ours that follow show a lab'ring band. 

The power of Heaven, that magnanimity, 
Bespread around us like a garb of love, 

With those rich jewels that adorn a bride, 
And showered only from a God above 

On every head, where'er our souls abide, 



THE NA TIONAL GL ORIA. 1 3 1 

Seem to deluge the land, e'en to the sea, 
With ripening harvest — fruit of russet hue : 

These be the largess of a Deity ! 
These be the gifts his summer suns renew! 

As I have sung, the whole world sounds aloud 

The anthems, from the shores of Freedom's own; 
In deep, continuing music from the earth 
• Sounds their elysian hymn unto His throne ; 
And touch their lyres, to give incessant worth 

Unto fleet tones. Thy nation still is proud 
Of evangelic light! Their spires arise, 

And whisper to the winds, that float the cloud 
Of drear away, and leave back sunlit skies ! 

Hail ! thou Prairie ! stretching to the view, 

As far as eye dare follow, pampas spread 
Feed the wild flock, oft whirring in the air ! 

Hail ! thou Prairie ! morning light is shed 
In brightest halo o'er thee everywhere ! 

Give me the Indian steed, both swift and true, 
To scale thy rolling upland ! Swift as speech 

I'd bid these meditative hours adieu, 
And ride the vast far as the soul can reach ! 

Far in the distance seems the sky to meet 
The gladsome land : The glassy clouds swing 
low! 

Seem to enfold earth's heaving, breast-like knolls 
In feathery arms : then like balloon they go 

Down to return no more ! Another vapor rolls 



132 THE NATIONAL GLORIA. 

Its silken mist in heaven, as to repeat 
Scenes that we love to gaze upon : we gaze, 

And beautify our spirit with a seat 
On some bright cloud, to sing eternal praise ! 

These are the pastures for the herds and flock : — 

They were the meadows for the roving bands 
Of horse and kine ! Fast following onward, we 

Usurp the mighty plains with skilful hands, 
And send our cities towering o'er the lea ! 

From yonder quarry the foundation rock 
We bring to light, and build where swiftly trod, 

In days of yore, another soul. They mock 
No more on earth the image of their God! 

And onward, where the rock-ridged hills arrear 

Their frowning precipices to the plain. 
And over them, into the basins deep. 

Where murmuring glyn is haunting the domain 
With the whirlwind, close up the mighty steep ! 

The miners' tinkling drill we dimly hear; 
The rolling windlass in the timbered shaft; 

The thund'ring blasts which break away and 
tear 
The flint-bound rock with irresisting draught ! 

And pinnacled around, the tree-caught cloud 
Sits in its dreamy height, like drapery 
Hung on a happy sylvan in the sun ! 



THE NATIONAL GLORIA. 1 33 

Below it the cascade, in majesty, 
Falls over golden sands ! These streamlets run 

Placid and bubbling, beautifully proud, — 
Sinking and rising to the light of noon. 

Until they form a river, roaring loud, 
To haunt the day and taunt the silver moon ! 

Here have we wandered by the sands of gold. 

And taught ourselves to magnify our hope, 
Till we had dwelled in realms Elysium ! 

Our lives were rich — we deemed no soul could 
cope 
With our found blessings : Yet they go and come, 

Rewarding us with pleasure manifold ; 
Or leaving dearth or death, as might it be, 

Where we had deemed to find a wealth un- 
told, 
And beauty's love, I fear we ne'er may see ! 

In this romantic scenery, thus displayed 

In broken gorges, cliffs, and mammoth steeps, 
And clinging boulders, to the banks upheld. 

We wander, where a gurgling fountain creeps 
From out the fissure, as it did of old : 

It pours its fresh'ning nectar o'er the glade, 
Translucid sweets that oft we stop to taste, 

And lie beside its murmurs, in the shade. 
And muse long hours upon the glorious waste ! 
12 



134 THE NATIONAL GLORIA. 

There are sweet songsters of the,brightest plume 

Around me, nestling in the tangling shrubs ; 
The chipmonk sings its quaint and weird song, 

The woodcock 'gainst the hollow drum -tree 
drubs, 
The swinging hawthorn grates with tiny prong 

The dry, curled leaves ; and lower down, in bloom, 
The wild-wood flowers, within their earliest days. 

Send up to me their incense of perfume. 
And fill my breast with ceaseless hymns of praise. 

Such are thy blessings, fair Columbia! 

Such be thy solitudes and famed retreats. 
To form a Gloria to a poet's moan. 

Such be thy benisons, where heaven meets 
The earth with promises, that make it groan 

Beneath the weight of fruits, that send their ray 
Of splendor and reflection to our soul ! 

And we re-echo them, by music's lay. 
With spell on spell, no poet can control. 

Here the Creator's magnanimity 

Displays terrestrial beauty, living, grand, 
And bountiful, in richness of the mines, 

And priceless panorama on each hand ! 
A greenlit waste, where gentle verdure shines, 

Mother-of-pearl like, by a sheeny sea ! 
Yet in a basin, chimneyed round by mounts, 

Where we behold such striking majesty, 
And taste the streams that gurgle from their founts, 



1 



THE NATIONAL GLORIA. 135 

And the bright light of noonday sun comes on, 

Most gloriously developing the hues 
Of brinded shades, that dapple o'er the grove ; 

And diamond-like the yet appearing dews 
Down in the gorge look out, where raylets rove, 

And there endenizen the waste! The day is won, 
And evening shadows fall upon the furze ; 

The fair light of the noonday sun is gone, 
And in its stead a lunar raylet stirs. 

These scarcely seem nocturnal hours : Around 

Is the same scenery, clothed with milder shroud. 
As beautiful and glorious as before ; 

And in the heavens an ivory evening cloud 
Is sporting with the moon ! The stars flame o'er 

The bending galaxy ; meteors, crowned 
With gilded crest, and trace of firelight fly 

Like distant rockets, with a spirit bound. 
Or seraph shooting from the twilight sky. 

Such are thy blessings, thou America ! 

And such thy beauty in the wild unrolled, 
Wh«re oft we wandered to enchant the soul ! 

And gems of tender light, moon-rays unfold 
Where'er, in waning hour, we dare to stroll ! 

Such be thy grandeur ! Hail ! the coming day. 
And freshest morning, in the singing glen : 

We shout with nature ! drink the earliest ray : 
And hear the earth ring with the tread of men ! 



136 THE NATIONAL GLORIA. 

" Hail ! Freedom ! " Sounds familiar to the ear 

Come up from rough-carved lips unto the morn ! 
"Hail! Freedom!" — come up to us, from brave 
hearts, 

Those very welcome words that still adorn 
Our gilded banners ! And the sound departs, 

Leaving the bosom of the spell ! Again we hear 
Men shouting " Liberty ! " along the line. 

Sounding its watchword. Ever, far and near, 
These freeborn men awake the lowly Nine. 

" Hail ! Liberty ! " we hear thy proud hurrah I 

From honest breasts, enthusiasts of toil : 
They are the votaries that labor long, 

To build the rock-formed forum on the soil. 
And sing around its banners that old song 

Which still inspires us with enkindling awe ! 
" Hail ! Liberty ! " Ten thousand times we wake 

The lovely morn ! A thousand times we saw 
Her mortars blast the earth they dare to shake ! 

Here giant rocks of ancient astragal. 

In massy columns, build up by the sands, . 
On bed of streams, until they rear a throne 

Of mountant earth! Up where the proud oak 
stands. 
The western zephyrs through the forests moan 

To Freedom's birth, and to the eagle's call. 
And with its hurried shriek another cast 

From out the ruins quakes the earth ; and all 
The dim wood shrinks with its nocturnal blast! 



THE NATIONAL GLORIA. 1 37 

Then a quietus : — Save the gurgling rill, 

In imitation of the souls born free, 
Disports alo.ng, and sings its weird psalm ; 

Driving beneath the trunk of fallen tree, 
It rises with a milk-white foam. And calm ' 

Its glassy bubbles swim — die and refill. 
And tremble out existence through all time, 

Mirroring the clouds of heaven, bank and hill, 
With million hues, too quaint for unborn rhyme. 

I cannot paint all beauties of the earth. 

For want of crayon, and for want of words : 
We are but feeble when we try to feel 

And pen the spell, I think the song of birds 
Has the expression, if the pen could steal 

Along their trilling notes, and give them birth, 
In all their warblings, with each several shade 

Upon a living canvas. It is worth 
That artists' pens through ages have not made. 

Let us arise. Oft have we drunk these sweets 

Until our souls o'erflowed with benisons ! 
And still we lingered, as with parting breaths 

We say our sad farewell. Around us runs 
A winding alley of the mount, where death's 

Hibernal seasons wrapped their wintry sheets. 
And seared the garlands that old Nature wove 

Into fair bower; and where the spring repeats 

Its loving page, and decks the golden grove. 
12 )t 



138 THE NATIONAL GLORIA. 

Where rock on rock arrears in even wall. 

And aged with mosses, trees, — where columbine 
Grow in the breezy mountain sky ; in air 

The whispering cedar and the feathery pine 
Above them wave, as sentinels that were 

Stationed but to defend these valleys all 
From northern storms and cyclones of the west : 

Here the huge serpents, hissing as they crawl 
In the dry leaves, around the flinted crest ! 

And honeysuckles of such sweet perfume 

Extil their loved aroma through the wold ; 
And yellow tulips with the muscoid grow, 

As if to make earth's blessings manifold; 
They ripen 'neath the wild-plum's bloom of snow, 

Where the bullfinch and various birds of plume 
Live in this Aiden of perfection given, 

Re-echoing to beauty a bright bloom, 
As saints with love adorn celestial Heaven ! 

Let us arise. This cloister of famed hues, 

Of singing birds, depascent on such sweets. 
Hath with a golden fillet here enchained 

The soul with such transcendency on seat' 
Of velvet roses, that we have remained. 

As lovers linger with their sad adieus. 
Drinking the very boon of ecstasy : 

As morning sun sips up the sparkling dews, 
We do insume and linger where they be ! 



I, 



THE NATIONAL GLORIA. 1 39 

Through arcades arched with vines — a shady 
way - — 

We might return again unto the world, 
And then compare the din of human toil 

To saintlier solitudes, that were unfurled 
Unto our gaze, beyond such grim turmoil. 

But blooming scenes like these have made their 
stay 
Deep in our memories, that seldom die, 

But come to us with their entrancing ray. 
Come in our dreams, and fleck a still, clear sky. 

We have been wanderers upon the .earth, 

Ling'ring at times within a fairy waste ; 
Drinking of the refreshing founts of life 

And glories carnal, sweet unto the taste ; 
Within those bounds we deem them gladly rife; 

We sang their praises, felt their strains of mirth ; 
And then with a farewell, without an aim 

Save but to soar again, we gave new birth 
To other realms, and passed from whence we 
came. 

Full many a year shall roll above the green. 
And leave to our successors things like these ! 

Though changed by nature, and by hands of power 
And human skill, here yet will go the breeze 

As it hath whispered in a former hour, 



140 THE NATIONAL GLORIA. 

While yet another eye gloats on the scene, 
And other artists paint the hill and dale, 

And other poets sing their psalms serene, 
And other flow'rets in the wold prevail. 

Our days will soon be past ! They come and flee 

Just like a bird that changes oft its clime: 
They bring with them the morning, noon, and night, 

Pleasurable hour, and a happy time, 
And little trials ; and then they take their flight ! 

And whither going it is naught to me ; 
We will not deem our fate hath been unkind, 

If mornings come and go with mystery. 
And leave us still in shades of ease behind ! 

But in this broken dream, what do I hear ? 

Nothing ! The dream hath drawn unto a close ; 
And here as I began it, by the wave. 

Upon a barren cliff, in sad repose, 
I break the spell that binds me like a slave. 

And waken to the morning. Visions dear 
And visions umber half forgotten seem 1 

I look around me, and no soul is near. 
And I alone collect the troublous dream ! 

What was the dream ? I waken from the spell, 
And see naught but a ruinous waste, a flood 

Deluging forth upon the weed-caught sands,^^ — 
A vision of dark deeds, of wasting blood. 

In many a battle ! And of peaceful lands. 



THE NATIONAL GLORIA. I4I 

And blooming wilds, and many a gracious dell ; 
But, like a portrait faded o'er by age, 

Its beauty has departed. So farewell ! 
The half is writ. I close the clouded page. 

CANTO VIII. 

Centenary. Anthem. 

Enwrap the mountainets and dales 

With Freedom's quavering tones ! 
And spread her glories on the gales, 

That touch ethereal thrones ! 
Awake the noble cannoneer ! 

Awake the bands with horns of gold ! 

Beneath the stars and stripes unfurled, 
The flag of silken fold ; 
And let their clanging psean pour 

Unto a wond'ring world ! 

Go knoll the famous bell of yore 
Into the souls of men. 

And let the cannon's dreaded roar 
Awake the earth again ! 
Ye mountant peals, moan with the sea, 
E'en to Pactolian's gleaming strand, 
Beneath the starry scrolls unrolled ! 

High to the breezes hurled ; 
And let the song of triumph pour 

Unto a wond'ring world ! 



142 THE NATIONAL GLORIA. 

Awake the warrior, old in years, 

Who bivouacs in his dream ; 
The yeoman's widow, sweet with tears, 

To see these glories beam ! 
Pathetic hymns, of deepest strain. 
Go up, bright, beautiful, and bold ; 

And stir the damasked wreaths we curled 
Around the staffs of gold ! 
And let thy songs of Freedom pour 

Unto a wond'ring world ! 

Aonian Forum ! Fount of praise ! 

Thy welling music goes, 
Aerial borne, through halcyon days. 

O'er peaks white-capped with snows ! 
The tramping clank of cavalcade, 
The time-told melodies of old, 

In unison with sounds unfurled 
O'er plains and blooming wold : — 
And far the paean-peals shall pour 

Unto a wond'ring world ! 

Ye smiling plains, and balmy groves, 
Inspire thy birds of plume : — 

Columbia's famed y^olists move 
In gardens of thy bloom ! 
And tune their quive'ring lyres to sing 

New tones of Freedom yet untold ! 

New tones thy bugle-horns shall her'ld 



THE NATIONAL GLORIA. 1 43 

Through morning beams of gold; 
And send their thund'ring notes of power 
Unto a vvond'ring world ! 

A hundred years of happiness and sighs ! 

A hundred years ! — and on a tower I stand, 
And gaze with contemplation on the rays 

Of former years, come creeping o'er the land, 
With a grand picture of primeval days ; 

Of opulence spread in the deep blue skies, 
Which grows more beautiful unto the gaze ; 

I think I see these monuments arise. 
With lights of old, grown grim along the haze ! 

A hundred years of summer suns and snows! 

Of winters bleak with bitter, howling wind, 
And wars and famine, pestilence and drear, 

And music sweet left in these days behind ; 
Such music as our recollections hear, 

In a loud vision, telling joys and woes, 
Of castles built, and monuments forlorn; — 

Temples of beauty in these years arose, 
Stand fair and famed, or shatter'd, old, and worn ! 

We are not faint ! But, moving like some shade 
All noiselessly, a spirit through these years 

Of scenes triumphant, full of smiles and wails, 
Where wailing widows dry their many tears, 

And lovers young sing music to the gales ; 



144 ^-^^ NATIONAL GLORIA. 

Or chase some faithless bird of a decade ! 
Like dreamers, follow fitful phantasies 

E'en to the lone abode that fancy made, 
And mask the drear, that mocks us with its breeze ! 

Thou epoch centenary ! O'er fairest land of sun 

These epulations to thy honor spread, 
And banqueting in ages' glorious light. 

With youths of chivalry — toasts to the dead, 
From speaking oracles, from guns of might, 

Whose quavering thunder o'er the lowlands run. 
Sounding aloud and roaring to the lays 

Of fife and drum ! Then sounds the gun ! 
Then comes the voice of nation's glorious praise. 

Our feasts are spread. Above us stripe and star 

Wave o'er the brows of matron and of maid. 
And 'mongst the mighty throng, behold the sire 

Lay his decrepit limbs within the shade, 
And rouse again at the next pealing fire ! 

These, these forget not implements of war, 
The gun, the stealing of the drum reveille. 

That comes to him like barkening from afar, 
To wake up sentinels to break of day ! 

Some fields of carnage, thunder, and rapine. 
With giant rocks, hurled from their massy tomes 
Down mountain ravines, to a steep below : 



THE NATIONAL GLORIA. 1 45 

Some mountain -tow'rs, where eaglets make 
their homes, 
Beneath' those loftier pinnacles of snow ! 

Some shattered fields — some lakes that still 
may shine — 
Bear marks of ravages, of broken trees, 

Of torn-up earth — to hecatombs a shrine, 
Unsung by all, save music in the breeze ! 

These bear the marks of war ! On the dread 
plain 

The ploughman furrows up the traces still 
Of the untombed, unguarded wreck of fate : — 

That mark of devastation on yon hill, 
Where Bunker's braves are letter'd high in state, 

To History's page shall evermore remain 
The untorn tableau to the wond'ring gaze ! 

Emblem of Liberty ! — and not in vain 
That tomb reflects the morn's propitious rays. 

But banqueting within the noon of years. 

The year of all the years of Liberty, 
We swing our wreaths of glory on the air. 

Which wafts its perfume to the either sea ! 
While, poled in well-carved fingers, snowy fair, 

Our monumented banner still arrears, 
A symbol of a bright, immortal theme. 

Growing more beautiful as it appears. 
But cannot be, the essence of a dream ! 
13 K 



146 THE NATIONAL GLORIA. 

Thou art so beautiful, fair child 

Of sunny eyes, and radiant countenance, 
And cheeks tinged with deep carmine — nature's 
hue; 

There is a lambent light appears to dance 
O'er thy young breast of virtue, ever true, 

Where rests upon the breezes soft and mild 
The silk and golden-banded flag of yore ! 

By her sweet breath 't is wafted and beguiled. 
Till — Hist! 'tis shook by cannon's breaking 
roar ! 

Where art thou, spirit? Thou immortal light! 

Resplendent with the starry coronet, — 
She who seems nursing Liberty to life 

Methinks within that aged belfry set. 
Like monitor awaiting for the strife, 

And the quick word that wakens up the 
sprite 
To pull the cord, and ring that aged bell ! 

Ring ! ring ! and make her melody, like night, 
Sweep o'er the mountain, battle-field, and dell ! 

That other spirit of my muse — go now 
With me amid the glories of the world ; 

Drink wines from golden goblets — it is day ! 
More gracious beauties never were unfurl'd ; 

Transcendent joys are dancing in the way ! 



THE NATIONAL GLORIA. 1 47 

Voluptuous bosoms, and the marble brow ; 
The burning lip of her who seems so blest ! 

I think that each be sweets I could allow 
To meet my own, and be thus madly prest. 

In tap'stried halls — in parlors of perfume, 

Mid .'trancing luxuries, which seem scarce real, 
In secret love with easy pace of pride, 

With some one glorious — with the ideal, 
Bewitching, blooming beauty at our side: 

She who seems budding into holy bloom, 
With loving eyes, and locks like torrent flood, — 

Who would not wade for such through fire and 
gloom ? 
And, sword in hand, die — giving blood for blood! 

In ancient halls, not shattered yet by time, 

We see the portrait old, in gild and state. 
Of him whose sounded mem'ry only lives 

In sacred majesty! Go read the fate, 
Behold what honor to such creature gives ! 

Go read in mystic lines the ancient rhyme. 
Droll epitaph, elating to the skies. 

His deeds of bravery. How in his prime 
He fell for freedom, nevermore to rise ! 

Within these walls we hear the dulcet strains 
Of heroines, whose voice, like golden bell, 
Rouse up the spirit to transplant us back, 



148 THE NATIONAL GLORIA. 

To hear more ancient melodies propel 
Their vital sounds. We follow in a track 

That leads us, in a dream, to the domains 
Where warriors stand, with trembling look of fear : 

We see the blows of death — the crimson 
stains — 
The dames that wail of unpropitious year! 

Thou seest a galaxy of statues, reared 

In an unbroken column, through the past! 
A stately phalanx — and the planted gun 

But list! hear'st thou the stricken plains aghast, 
The deep-toned rumble of its thunder run ! 

The trees stand tremulous, like orgies weird. 
That shake at destiny ? Then comes the steed 

With mighty implement — with curses, steered. 
To make earth yawn, and even nature bleed ! 

Blackening and darkening with the flame of 
hell I 

The ceaseless burst of mortars on the plains ! 
The hopeless shriek of struck ones, at the bourne 

Of darkness, deeper still 1 Like clanking chains, 
This frowning night links out another morn. 

Where we behold a hecatomb : — The bell ! 
Go ring that bell ! these slaughters be entombed ! 

Shout Liberty ! and let your chorus swell 
O'er those whose beds with roses be perfumed ! 



THE NATIONAL GLORIA.- 1 49 

Go ring that ancient Bell ! Loud as a storm, 

Let her great numbers sweep above the braves, 
The telltale glory o'er each citadel, 

Where high in silken folds our flag still waves 
The beckoning signal o'er the hill and dell ! 

A hundred years have passed — sound the 
alarm. 
And deck in costume beautiful and bright 

The maiden fair, of most voluptuous form. 
To pass the viands — we drink to her delight! 

On Monmouth's fields go plant again the gun, 

Where once thick-heaped the dying and the 
dead 
Were strown like broken reeds in winter wind ; 

Where the bold cannoneer fell at his stead, 
Fainting amid the surging roar ! Then blind 

From vanguard rank the streaming thunder 
run, 
Sweeping with vengeance dire the telling blow; 

Following up retreating foes, when won 
The first foothold that breaks a warring foe ! 

This is but one told Victory ! Hessian bands. 
The Briton hirelings, fell with Monckton's fall : 

And Ogden, like a hero, on their flanks 
Cuts down the remnant of a broken wall; 

The flying banners of retreating ranks 
13* 



150 THE NATIONAL GLORIA. 

Are scattered to the wind, like shifted sands ! 
And Qinton's red battalions frighten'd fly — 

And with a proud hurrah ! in Freedom's hands 
The starry banner waved along the sky ! 

These fusileers were young men, brave and bold: 

And Morgan's riflemen, strong grenadiers, 
Like tigers, followed up the foe to death 1 

And in this chase the hero Knox appears, 
And Wayne with Liberty in every breath 

Stands forth ! But let those incidents enfold 
The dead with honors that become the free ; 

I think on Time's old tablet 't is enrolled 
In deep-cut lines, all ages love to see ! 

Encamped in shades that look o'er fields like 
these. 

The vagrant spirit stabbed again, with wound 
Inflicted on paternal 'breasts. The shriek 

Of forms, lying like targets on the ground, 
Torn, bleeding, blinded, piteous, and weak ; 

The neighing steed, — the blue smoke in the 
breeze, 
And the undying clamor of struck arms, 

In hideous uproar, like the moan of seas, 
Send up in one black column their alarms ! 

But, spirit! thou vain wanderer, return; 
Embrace with me these sacred ofl^'rings spread; 
It is to thee these epulations, famed — 



THE NATIONAL GLORIA. 151 

Glorious, we consecrate. Lift thy head, 
And let thy breast with honor be inflamed; 

Strike up that anthem now, and let us learn 
The magic glow that lifts the weary soul ! 

Strike up that music — let our bosoms burn 
Along with strains loud ringing as they roll ! 

Hang high the silver-hilted sword, and see 

But a reflection of its former stroke : 
The two-edged blade is firm upon the wall ; 

The epaulet, where oft beneath it broke, 
Above it hangs — its golden tassels fall. 

Breezy, in simplest, sternest majesty; 
And 'round it a gilt frame of gold appears, 

And then a verse not meaningless — which be 
The oft-told tale of war in former years 1 

The clash of arms ! — But this has past away; 

Come, now, fair Vesta, by thy generous hearth, 
And tell those little tales of later days. 

Which give a southern battlement its birth — 
Of Mexico — sing high the heroes' praise; — 

Those rosy lips have volumes for the day 
The nation's flag sailed waving o'er the plain. 

Sweet Vesta, sing to us the charming lay. 
For thy young voice I long to hear again. 

Not yet to Mexico : — 'Mid ruins old 
The spirit turns to wander. But refrain. 
Stop ! while thy glory is in peace and love. 



152 THE NATIONAL GLORIA. 

Stop ! while these greeting, sumptuous viands 
remain, 
Within this garden lawn, or growing grove, 

Nor seek those realms of slaughter and of gold! 
For Chalco's lake has ceased to soothe in charm, 

And Scott sleeps by his aged paternal fold, 
In death enchained by Fate's relentless arm. 

But is this not a vision? Let me see; 

The infirm spirit of a fitful dream 
Breaks spell on spell. Let go my aching hand; 

For we have followed till these scenes but seem 
An apparition : what is Chalco's strand, 

El Penon's gates, ennobled garato, 
Or Cherubusco, scattered on the plain. 

Or San Augustin, or e'en Mexico, 
To following hosts that marked the earth with slain. 

But castled on thy hill, Chapultepec, 

In solitary state, thou seemest yet 
In mystic glory, like a prince arrayed, 

Looking to the sierra that we met 
Frowning with ridges, deep with gloom displayed, 

Cut by barrancas and the dells that speck 
The profound waste. San Angel looks at thee, 

Like sleepy city, that has ceased to deck 
Herself, but gapes at beauties on the lea. 

And yet Puebla! — Do we here portray 

Brave Santa Anna, with persistent hand. 

And Worth, the ever dauntless conqueror; 



THE NATIONAL GLORIA. 1 53 

Then Scott with his battalions take their stand, 
Waking the morning air with calls. Astir, 

I think I hear the music o'er the gray, 
And the quaint drum reveille sound aloud, 

And see the old flag swinging tremblingly, 
When fires the gun and breaks the thund'ring 
cloud ! 

In this fair, sunny clime, oh ! thou sweet one. 

Go with me in the dales, by blooming hills. 
Or sit in shades of glory, and unfurl 

And cool thy snowy breast in tepid rills, 
While I pluck from those jewelled ears a curl, 

For a memento to some warrior gone ; 
Tell a loved tale of sleeping heroine, 

Whose grave forgotten, heaves no listless lawn, 
Or sing a song o'er such in strains divine/ 

But, maiden of the sweet and coal-black eye, 

And lustrous jetty tresses, where art thou ? 
Most lovely of all creatures, let me see, 

Castilian feature — smoothest marble brow, 
The devotee of pleasure — thou to rrie 

Seem'st like a wanderer from out the sky, 
Wars with my vigil filled with jealousy, 

With sword of kisses. 'Tween them I deny 
Their thrusts, and let them heap the blows on one. 

There is no deadlier feeling than despair. 
Of a torn blessing from a loving heart: 
And deeper wounds by sword are seldom made 



154 THE NATIONAL GLORIA. 

Than that which snatches from us suitors blest 
By long devotion. We are not repaid 

With deed of kindness, nor with common care, 
But madly in the fabric of the mind 

Burns the invective : Let us curse and bear ! 
I cannot curse, but love all human kind. 

The inauspicious soul with such dread trial, 

In this cold world grown callous, bears the 
blow ; 
For the inburning spirit, thus distress'd. 

Hath known too oft the pangs of such a throe ; 
Hath parted with too many that were blest 

With a most maddening love ; with sickly 
smile 
On human weakness, turns this wreck away, — 

Forsaken vagrant down death's lonely aisle, 
He sweeps his trace and sings his lonely lay. 

You who have felt these pangs : — You who have 
known 

Creatures most beautiful, and were caressed 
By their soft palms upon your aching brow. 

And felt their bosoms to your bosom pressed 
With all the love a vain heart could allow ; 

You who have seen these castles overthrown 
By calumny — or worse, a doting breath, — 

Hath felt the common sting — but not alone 
You suffer shame and ignominious death ! 



THE NATIONAL GLORIA. I55 

It is our common lot. Within the past, 

In histories of nations, when at war 
Or when in peace, we read the same told tale ; 

And in the present age, both near and far. 
These little peccadilloes still prevail. 

The misery of lives within this vast 
And mighty world — their curses, their disease 

Grown from a slight reproach — until at last 
They grasp the sword, or sail the distant seas. 

Go ! let us hide in caves the fiery form. 

Or chain us in some gloomy cell, or crush 
The life-link from our necks of dire despair. 

And, like the black bat, in these caverns brush 
Our wing-like souls 'gainst rocks as bleak and bare, 

'Till we have beat life out. There, like a storm 
Thrashing itself on things inanimate. 

The evil dream of life would cease to harm, 
Or make us weep to see such frowning Fate. 

Deep, heavy sobs I hear ! what can it be ? 

She who hath borne affliction and grown old 
To nurse despair e'en in her second age ! 

She, whose once burningbreast is calm and cold — 
Curs'd by a with'ring hope — dark-lettered page, 

Whereon she reads eternal misery ! 
I see go tottering in the paths of gloom. 

With staff in hand, a feeble crone, that be 
In a parched path, that leads but to the tomb ! 



156 THE NATIONAL GLORIA. 

Again go forth. Thou, Cerro Gordo's crest, 

Like glacis look'st o'er the ravine and fell. 
From whose grim parapet arose the flame, — 

Guns, whose brands of calibre still tell 
With shots on the broke rock of living fame ! 

'Long the declivity the marks still rest 
Of Santa Anna's fleet — of whose vain strife 

Ye read. Go see the river, still unblest. 
The huge shrubs broke and struggling yet for life. 

But where art thou, Ampudia ! Let me see, 

From this tall tower of visionary light, 
A monument, which tells us of a grave. 

Holding a tongue that told of this one flight — 
The field for Shields and Riley, bold and brave, 

Turning on foes their own artillery ! 
The field for Scott ! Ring out that bell of yore. 

And let its tone sweep o'er these hills, that be 
A tablet to such victories evermore ! 

I think I hear above these rugged hills 

The shouts of victory arising yet. 
And see the stars and stripes upon the breeze ! 

The soft light of the sun begins to set 
O'er a rent battlement — and broken trees 

Droop like torn trophies, where the sunlight spills 
Its last descending rays. And down the way 

The blood-stained leaflets, bathing in the rills. 
Tell of struck forms, that reel, a vulture's prey ! 



THE NATIONAL GLORIA. 1 5/ 

Ye who have loved to linger at the scene, 

That stands an altar and a sacrifice, 
May read still on : For he that runs may read ! 

The bold have taught themselves to know no 
price 
For struggling life ! Thus, he that fights must 
bleed, 

If such his destiny proclaims : I lean 
Upon a wreck who reads these things, endowed 

With countenance as brave, and yet serene, 
With armless sleeve, that reads the tale aloud ! 

Thou who hast followed long, in broken dreams, 

Uncomforted at times, save by some spell 
Of dying music from a timbrel's tone, — 

From the light zephyr to thick shot and shell, — 
Must view again ! Or ^et I go alone 

O'er battle-fields, and sit by sunny streams, 
Or stand on mountain peak, — look o'er the plain 

Where armies press'd their veteran troops and 
teams. 
And see deep brands left by their crimson train! 

And thou, New Leon ! where Monterey stands, 
Like some memorial of a battle-ground ; 
A city and red plain at set of sun. 

Where warring squadron in the street-way found 
Their foe — their death ! With gleaming sword 
and gun 
14 



158 THE NATIONAL GLORIA. 

Clasped bravely in the hero's ready hands, 
Guided by volunteers in search of spoil, 

On to the plaza cut their way. Broke bands 
Of Mexicans fall, stunned, in blood-stained soil ! 

And Palo Alto gives a laurel, too, 

To wreathe our columns of this monument, 
Which sends its starry spire into the air; 

'Tis one more sprig to deck a battlement! 
'Tis one more victory! Great heaven shall 
spare 

This stead but a small tomb, to stand to view, 
Telling of a retreating foe — the blast 

Which broke their armaments, and overthrew 
The squads that brave Arista had amassed ! 

Then comes the " Warrior's Ravine," grim and 

drear ; 
Old nature's parapet, flanked by the way 
By the impenetrable, matted growth 

Of chaparral and aloes in full sway ! 
Here nature's curse seems lingering, with an 
oath, 
"That he who seeks this stead shall find his 
bier!" 
Yet forward rushed our swift artillery. 

Followed by dragoons, charging from the rear, 
Who swept the path that led to victory ! 



THE NATIONAL GLORIA. 1 59 

Now trembles Matamoras ! This dread road 

Of clattering hoofs and implements of war 
Leads to thy city : The victorious tread 

Of coming troops, resounding from afar, 
Leave in their gory tracks the quailed and dead ! 

Leave back a bleeding army, that they mowed 
Like weeds uprent, and blackened by a storm ! 

Then follows Night, to make a drear abode 
To wrecks, — and gloom-like quilts the shatter'd 
• form ! 

Retire from off the field : Have we not heard 

The wreakful guns, and seen them shroud the 
sun 
With a black column, rising from the flash ! 

And seen the livid lightning stream and run! 
Then followed up by thunder's dreaded crash ! 

And cast a veil, like wings of ominous bird ! 
All these we saw within our broken dream, 

And seeing these, we shuddered : Speak the 
word. 
And we will rest by yonder silver stream ! 

We will depart from battle-fields, and go 
Into the gardens of the groves of earth. 

And stroll along where Beauty's asking eyes 
Are giving gentle gladness ever birth, 

Eyes briglit as stars that simper in the skies, 



l6o THE NATIONAL GLORIA. 

Both deep and clear, with one eternal flow 
Of radiant light: — Depart with me, and wing, 

Like winds of morn, far as their zephyrs blow, 
O'er Freedom's bounds, where 'loft her banners 



swmg 



Then blow, ye winds of morn ! o'er dreamlands 
ride 

The Spirits on thy gale : blow deep in tone 
O'er mountain garb all tremulous to thee ; 

We be thy followers, and not alone : 
Thy music shall steal o'er the bowing lea ; 

E'en to the distant murmur of the tide. 
We sweep both oceans with our songs of peace ! 

The goddess of the free shall be our bride, 
Whose anthems of the great shall never cease ! 

A gentle breeze comes to us o'er the lea, 

And blows the sorrage, tinged with frost of morn ; 
The golden rays make globules on the trees ; 

Like crystal gems, these diamond-lights adorn 
The yellow leaves, that whisper in the breeze 

Thro' cringing grass beneath our feet. We be 
Young wanderers, and lead us on, where views 

Of mammoth pride on earth in majesty 
Are damp'd with these same frosts and early dews. 

Autumnal sweets ! these breezes fresh and pure ! 
On flying steed, we trace the mountain air; 
Our hounds are bell'wing near us o'er the plain; 



THE NATIONAL GLORIA. l6l 

O'er wilted reeds and stubbles brown, we dare 
To chase the forest beast, and sound ag^in 

Our bugle-blast, as if we would inure 
Into this vast, enthusiastic breath ; 

We sound our horns ! we take a flying tour 
O'er fading weeds, and crush their forms in death ! 

Down yonder dell ! o'er yonder hillock's crest, 

And through the brake, into the forest wild, 
By water roaring to the quiet charm — 

By tinkling runlet — pools like mirror, mild — 
We sound the horn — we wake up the alarm, 

We whirl our steed against the shaded west, 
On spreaded plain of glories — great and grand ! 

Let go our steed, with his expanded chest, 
And chase a spectrum o'er a smiling land. 

We feel autumnal winds come stealing on 
O'er the dead, tingling, sword-like blades of 
corn, 
And see the crystal frosts upon the trees, 
And in the rosy garden, grown forlorn 
Beneath the bitter winding of the breeze, 

That coldly wings around the waving lawn — 
The chill November rains, the early snows. 

When flow'rets from the meadow have with- 
drawn 
From summer's light, to take such bleak repose. 
14* L 



1 62 THE NATIONAL GLORIA. 

Yet, merry Winter ! with its ice-bound hills, 

And driven, laughing snows, and creaking 
wood, — 
Swift in our sledges with our jingling bells. 

With rose-cheeked damsels, beautiful and good, 
Then our gay laughter on the breezes swells. 

As fast the steeds go flying through the vills. 
Where urchins build their bustos ! Onward, where 

The drifting snow is gath'ring o'er the rills. 
We glide like zephyr down a mountain air ! 

Ye snow-clad plains ! beneath our bands of steel, 

Beneath our cleaving hoofs of fleetest steed, 
Ye fly like meteors! Earth's tenements — 

The hills, the braes, the listless, rattling reed, 
Pass by us like a morning bird, that rents 

The shreds of air. The distant uplands reel 
Along the lowering sky of clouds of gray ! 

I could live alway in this youth, and feel, 
Thus leaving earth, to glide o'er hills away. 

The gracious wood-fires crackling on the hearth, 

And evening tales, with music's sweetest chimes. 
By lamplit volumes speaking of the past, 

We read of the progression of the times ; 
Of wrapping snows, of winter's drowning blast. 

Of lands that give to seasons not such birth ; 
We read of a returning summer light. 

When spring-time will look gladly o'er the earth, 
To chase this cloak of winter's hoary blight. 



THE NATIONAL GLORIA. 1 63 

And Spring returns — most gladsome, singing 
Spring ! 

And the first swallow on the wing comes back, 
A welcome visitor unto this clime ; 

And in some shady nook the last, last track 
Of melting snow : The hills look up sublime. 

And the unfolding sunlight, on fleet wing. 
Creeps in the dales, but to reverse once more 

The cornucopia. Nature 'gins to sing, 
And ring again her sweets from shore to shore ! 

And Cecil wanders in her garden bowers, 

And views the pink-bed by the ancient path : 
Here are the traces of a winter storm — 

The dead and falling stems of winter's wrath. 
Where a new life is pushing forth its form. 

With rosy hand she sows the seed of flowers, 
And dreams her day-dreams o'er : — where lov^e 
lies dead, 

She deems again, within some future hours. 
Another rose will lift its blooming head. 

And Paxi, with thy beauteous, rosy bloom. 
Oh ! welcome to my heart — Oh ! welcome ; yet 

Perhaps we may not meet in life again ! 
Thy words of music I will ne'er forget ; 

Nor that one thought which often brings me 
pain. 



164 THE NATIONAL GLORIA. 

The broken promises, like silent gloom, 
Hang o'er a recollection : with a sigh 

I deck my bowers alone, taste their perfume, 
And even think thy spirit wanders nigh. 

But Fate decrees: why should we curse our lot? 

Why should we hate misfortune's sad adieu ? 
We cannot tarry by the sweets of life, 

E'en though their many vows we deem as true. 
We tear our breasts away with saddest strife. 

We mark their kindest wishes, and the spot 
Where they appeared most beautiful — and weep, ^ 

If we e'er weep o'er pleasures scarce forgot. 
With haunts in days, and dreams within our sleep. 

On ermine robes let all my loves repose, 

Where fleecy drapery of whitest snow 
In breezy air swings, like the gentlest plumes ; 

Where the mellifluous strains of music flow. 
And golden mirrors deck their envied rooms ! 

Let honeysuckles and the daintiest rose 
In shining chalice beam with heavenly beam. 

Far from the din of worldly wiles and woes. 
For a sweet life, that seems a cherished dream. 

'T is oft we 'bark'd the giant ship, and rode 
The mighty rivers — passing sunny isles 

And timbered lands, and many a fruitful shore; 
Where radiant sunlight o'er the sylvan smiles, 

Where dark a wilderness, in days of yore, 



THE NATIONAL GLORIA. 1 65 

Sang to the winds a hoarse, lamenting ode. 
We shout and sing ! behold the gladsome land ! 

Behold where men have made a long abode, 
And plough, and build their cities on each hand ! 

With dauntless prow, we pass the greenlit 
waste ; 

We pass the shoals, the trinkling banks of 
sand, 
The bending willows, dripping in the wave ; 

The falling trees, that tumble from the land. 
And lay their leafless heads within the lave ; 

The freshening breezes of the morn we taste. 
And forest odors, floating from the wold ; 

We see the swallow o'er the ship in haste 
Delve in the sky, to silvery clouds unroU'd ! 

'T is oft, upon the mighty, boisterous lake. 

Tossed like a bubble on the rolling deep ! 
And on the gulf of dreary, lashing foam 

We watched the waters follow us, and creep 
Along the stern ; and whither did we roam ? 

And whither did our bark the din awake ? 
We came again where Freedom's banner bore 

Those stars and stripes, for which the mortars 
shake 
And make earth tremble at their deafening roar! 



1 66 THE NATIONAL GLORIA. 

We watch the changing hues of quavering sprays, 

The oozing waters on the sighing shells, 
The trundled pebbles, beautifully smooth ; 

The oft-mopped bank, that seemingly rebels 
At every lash, — and then we try to soothe 

Our weary soul by breeding unborn days. 
With greater happiness, if such can be, 

Where silence reigns, and glory to the gaze 
Brings greater joys than musing on the sea. 

On visionary wings ! This is a dream : 

A broken dream, whose particles upheave 
Like wreakful masts, all tempest-toss'd and torn! 

We dream of Freedom ! and we still believe 
Her blazing lights are in their veriest morn : 

Behold her gladsome fields, that gayly team 
With yellow corn and fruit of luscious kind ! 

All have been hymned — and now upon life's 
stream 
We ease the sad-like tedium of the mind. 

This is not all a dream. The real star 

Of promises looks out upon a vast, 
Which is the throne on which our fame is placed. 

Around which gather relics of the "past. 
Have we not seen what ancient glory graced 

The horizon, and roU'd its flame afar ? 
Yea ! in the height the crowning spires arise. 

Yea ! in the distance is the hush of war, 
That once distressed the goddess of the skies. 



THE NATIONAL GLORIA. , 1 6/ 

This starry night ! these opalescent gleams 

Come by the fields, in dells, on shining 
rills, 
And beautify the orfrays on the cloud. 

High over yondei* rolling fields and hills, 
The golden moon awakes the hazy shroud 

With lunar rays, and fiU'd with happy beams ! 
The horizon with winging spirits scanned ! 

Spirits from earth that see elysian dreams, 
And count their lives souls of this fairy band ! 

And the aroma of the forest flowers 

Ascends — sweet incense to a sparkling throne ! 
With an altiloquence to sing a psalm 

Of glorious praise along the seeming zone, 
Where happy eves are fraught with breezes 
balm ; 

Through which the twinkling starlight spends 
their showers ! 
Where oft we wander with our saintly love, 

And listless, dream away our early hours 
In musincf on a world of stars above ! 



Oh ! maid of night ! thy cheek incarnadined 
With sweetest blushes — bosom ever true! 

Hear'st thou the gentle murmur of the leaves, 
That seem to sigh their evening songs anew ? 

The fairy dew-drop, that their form receives, 



1 68 , THE NATIONAL GLORIA. 

Like thy red lip, from early sweets unweaned ! 
Tell me, what happiness is yet in store 

For that fond breast on which thy soft cheeks 
leaned 
With promise fair, and vows to love the more ! 

When thou hast lorded o'er a curious earth, 

A wondering universe, a strange expanse. 
And caught the eyes of multitudes of men, 

Swung with the joyous beauties of the dance ; 
Felt ecstasy thou mayst not feel again ! 

In thy decrepitude, or second birth, 
Wilt thou enjoy this silence to the grave ? 

Wilt thou demand these implements of mirth. 
Command thy limbs in prided step as brave ? 

All this the doom of heroes ! Some may be 

Immortal by their deeds, and after death 
Enjoy in spirit lands an endless view; 

And, like a spectrum of returning breath. 
Perch o'er posterity, and live anew 

The life born in them. This is naught to me, 
Though all these laurels live when we are gone: 

It is enough if then lives Liberty, 
And Freedom's flag still planted on the lawn! 

Though I were born to fame, — immortal life. 
Enthroned amid the stars ! — but pass that by! 
Another field of immortality. 



THE NATIONAL GLORIA. 1 69 

Which speaks of mansions standing in the sky, 
Built on imagination's basis, — ye 

Who live in guilt, still breeding carnal strife. 
Can scarce behold. Ye curs'd of Mammon, go 

On to destruction ! In this damp is rife 
The groans of fiends, still writhing weak with 
woe ! 

There be a Vision ! — Vision of dark deeds ! 

Of things intangible, that pass, repass 
A spectrum of the saddest type of men. 

Of worsted soul, which seems to sigh alas! 
Ye now behold! It seems to move again! 

Beneath its tread a feeble nation bleeds : 
Yoked serfs, — in bondage that they cannot break. 

But war with tongues. Their tyrant seldom 
heeds 
Their words of wail, but bids their tenets shake ! 

That spectrum moves ! Hist ! to its fearful tread ! 

The monetary king o'er feeble forms, 
All merciless, — capricious in design, — 

Whose chariot-wheel goes rolling through the 
storm ; 
Behind him the crushed souls in death repine ; 

He turns with scorn upon the falling head ! 
His crushing steed is trampling underneath 

The crying millions : — wailings from the dead, 
From their spilt blood, howl in the air ye breathe! 
15 



I/O THE NATIONAL GLORIA. 

Yet thou, propitious Hope ! On anchor strong 

We lean, all radiant with a lovely smile, 
And songs of cheer sweep to us o'er the sea 

Of darkness gathering ! We hark awhile 
Unto those holy strains of Liberty 

Now sung — once woven into glorious song! 
Hope's gentle whisperings seem to begin : 

We ask the gods these anthems to prolong. 
To cheer us through these seasons grim with din ! 

Republic of Republics ! what of thee ? 

Have we not dared to touch the fabled lyre, 
And sung in lyric verse these beauties all? 

E'en to the ocean did we not respire, 
And on the mountain-tops let verses fall 

That hymned on high the notes of Liberty ! 
The deepest vales, the plains and woodland wild, 

Have trembled 'neath our tones of victory. 
And felt love's chords on breezes gently mild ! 

And crowned with victory's coronet, the 
great, 

The rulers of the sengites, thundering 
Their living eloquence into our ears ! 

From every state of power they gladly bring 
To life their garlands, as they mark their spheres, 

And claim their satellites with pride elate ! 
Enthusiastic shouts unto the skies, 

Come to them from their votaries in state. 
While their opponent in the distance dies! 



THE NATIONAL GLORIA. 17I 

But let the. world all tremble ! Touch my chord, 

And o'er the quavering waters of the deep 
Loud-sounding notes roll with incessant peal ! — 

O'er pampas — wake up the frontier, asleep! 
And o'er the vale make living mortals reel, 

As if it were His tread — creation's Lord — 
As if it were an earthquake's groaning pace ! 

While in the canopy of height, the Word 
Makes mountains topple to each rock-form'd base ! 

Reanimated by the bugle's blast, 

That steals along, re-echoing o'er the braes ! 
Reanimated by the flights of bird, 

That takes on mountain wings its airy ways ! 
Like it the spirit delves — its wings seem heard 

Oft to have kissed the silken winds it passed ; 
Oft to have whispered o'er an Eden field, 

Where kindliest saints have golden stores 
amassed, 
In a loved waste that cannot help but yield ! 

Yet, Florida ! thou land of flowers, and groves 

Of tropic fruits — the yellow oranges ! 
Of wilderness in an eternal bloom, 

Where sunny hours of many halcyon days 
Call forth the singing bird of various plume ! 

Where gentle Agnes with her lover roves 
In nature's garden, near the ocean strand, 

Which wooes in murmurs these uxorious loves, 
That gather pearls and wander hand in hand ! 



1/2 THE NATIONAL GLORIA. 

Thy silent pools, where myriads of fowl 

Are building, ever singing life away ! 
Thy lemon-groves, and sylvan, sweetest shade, 

And the warm sky ; thy milky clouds of gray, 
And the thick matting of the everglade, 

Where mopes the lonely, lonely hooting owl ! 
Where we have ceased to wander : Let us turn 

Into its lovelier groves, nor paint the scowl 
Of dim wood-groves, of which we dare not learn ! 

Thy shores ! Thy shores ! where sapphire bril- 
liants glow. 

And gems of pearls, and sparkling diadems, 
And moaning shells, tellinas of the deep ! 

The bivalve with elastic cardo hems 
Thy mighty sandbanks, seemingly asleep, 

Where the molluscans ooze in waves that go 
Alternate o'er thy banks, and roars the tide, 

Drenching and lashing with its endless flow 
Its billowing foam, in murmurs far and wide ! 

Have we not writ our names on banks of sand ? 

Have we not watched the midnight billows lash 
From either ocean ! — watched the bubbles burst 

Against the breakers with eternal crash. 
As if such life were born to be thus curs'd? 

'.How beautiful appear these silvery strands 
In vernal life — e'en in autumnal days 

We love to linger gently by the lands, 
Banked o'er, — - to watch the ocean's gladsome 
sprays ! 



THE NA TIONAL ' GL ORIA. 1 73 

The Isles ! The teeming Isles! in beauteous dress, 

Shine like oases on the desert plain ; 
The green and yellow leaves — the silent shades 

That chase a flying light, with a cool stain ! 
And then the evening moon, whose light invades 

These happy lands with heavenly loveliness ! 
And then the stars, that twinkle from their spheres, 

Make glad the bosom that has known distress, 
And with sweet balm wipe out our vagrant tears ! 

Like some alcalde, when once o'er the world, 

We sit and contemplate the lovely vast ; 
New germs for thought we constantly create, 

By instances that spring up from the past. 
Such as the destinies of men — the fate 

Of lives that in an instant are unfurled, 
And cast upon the river, — name of sighs, 

Many are they who be so quickly hurled 
In an abyss, which drowns their piteous cries ! 

And then revivifying scenery glows 

With its terrestrial beauty, sweet, serene. 
As mammoth cosmorama, steel-engraved, 

From whose famed picture did we often glean 
A dream where various sunny colors waved, 

A scene of Andean rocks and endless snows, 
Or vales of grandeur, teeming with these flowers. 

And orchards green, and blossoming like the rose, 
Its sweetest bloom gives after April showers ! 
15* 



1/4 I^I^E NATIONAL GLORIA. 

Ye Alleghany pyramids of mounts ! 

Deep 'neath our iron steed thy basins lie, 
And mica-like reflects the pouring streams, 

When the big sun rolls dauntless in the sky. 
And paints earth's beauty with celestial beams, 

Mingling its raylets with the spray of founts ! 
And then a marble cloud, with tinge of gold. 

Like a balloon the airy way surmounts, 
To spread green shadows o'er the smiling wold ! 

In thy floriferous gardens, sweet with fume, 

Where twinkling, crystal dewdrops gathering 
Within the morn, and bright like diamonds glow, 

Thy raylets to these gems of beauty cling 
With all apparent splendor in one show ; 

In a loved waste like this, of early bloom, 
We find where florid earth, with all its sweets, 

Breeds a fond light to chase the slightest gloom, 
And brings a Halo as the day repeats ! 

In orchards laden with the luscious fruit, 

Upon the sward of green we gently stroll. 
And hear the bluebird chirp, — the pipe of quail, 

That delves like magic in the weary soul ! 
We watch the clouds, like silveiy banner, sail 

Along the sky ! We hear a hero's flute. 
In whistling notes, stream from a mansion door! 

We list again ! Some ancient, tingling lute, 
With silken chord, rings to us evermore ! 



THE NATIONAL GLORIA. 1 75 

Yet list again! It is the voice of maid, 

Whose heedless laughter falls upon the breeze : 
And the piano roars mellifluous, 

And melts amid the gentle wave of trees. 
Oh, goddess of the wold ' why tempt me thus 

With those undying strains, in flowers of shade, 
On mossy mounds, and knolls of pillowing earth, 

In whose bright bourne life's youth can scarcely 
fade. 
Or give to gloom the germ that gives it birth ? 

In harvests golden, hear the reaper clang 

O'er the smooth glebe of stubbles, where the 
sheaves 
Like sentinels await their folding turns ! 

We see the shifting of the yellow leaves, 
Like a young gleed with gracious fires burns. 

O'er which the merry harvester just sang 
Its songs of triumph ! In the distance goes 

The heavy horse, and following it the bang 
Of cycle sounds, and shakes our soft repose ! 

Or in the shady wold ! Go where the vine 

In thickest foliage is hanging low ! 
And where the papaw grows its fruit so green. 

Or where the ivies in their riches grow 
High up the oak, still towering serene! 

High up the maple ! Freedom reigns divine 
In these pure regions, — joys in wilderness 



176 THE NATIONAL GLORIA. 

We drink alone — and see bright flow'rets shine 
In purple colors, and in golden dress ! 

Ye who have loved these sylvan sweets, and 
dwelled 

Among these bowers, and traced some gentle 
vale ; 
And drank from gushing fountains pure and cool ; 

And built up castles in the breezy gale ! 
And read from books in Nature's gladsome school — 

Know how thy bosom with these glories swell'd, 
And taste its blessings still : We sound its praise ! 

We sound it as we did in days of eld, 
And rear its dome through future smiling days ! 

Are we not sitting in a lovely dale. 

Sweet, gentle Blanche, with eyes of skylight 
blue? 
Here trains of columbine and mignonette 

Are blossoming with leaves. The mistletoe, 
The mountain ivy, where the gray rocks jet, 

Shut out the scorching sun, like a green veil ; 
And golden birds, whose song we ne'er pass thro' ! 

Are lending music to the whispering gale. 
To drown these tears, that rise from worldly woe ! 

These crystal pools, young mirrors of the skies. 
Reflecting the wild, red'ning grape, that swings 
Like pendant offering, unto the bird, 



THE NATIOiVAL GLORIA. Ijy 

Which we behold ! List ! how its music rings 
In unknown tongue, — quaint music that we heard 

In former times, — sweet melodies arise ! 
I think this be a land of sunny plains, 

A veriest land of teeming Paradise, 
Where in day-dreams we hear these holy strains ! 

What golden legend will create once more 

Within our bosoms longings for a land 
Of Eldorados, where the soul's delight 

Is beaming from a mighty, silver strand, 
Like a fixed star within a clear, calm night ? 

Ye who in visions saw this fairy shore, 
Ye who have wandered — in despair returned — • 

And mused aloud upon the ocean's roar. 
Go forth again — in vain ye lived and yearned ! 

'Mid palaces of Nature, great and grand. 

High up the rugged Andean heights — look out ! 
Up where a sea of clouds in state appear, 

Beneath whose pedestal dark caves, about 
The basins deep, immutable, seem drear ! — 

We gaze upon a broken, shadowed land, 
Where the inestimable, hidden store, 

Deep-bow'led in earth, hid by an unseen hand, 
With untold gems, sleep bands of golden ore ! 

The gray, bald rocks, that rear their column walls 
Like hoary seers by the acclivity; 
The crumbling clay, that rumbles from above ; 
M 



1/8 THE NATIONAL GLORIA. 

The shriek of hawk within this sky-like sea 
Of airy height; the cooing of the dove, 

And mystic sound, which o'er the ribbed hill 
falls,— 
In poesy we drink in one great gasp. 

And wander where the cataract's loud calls 
Swing o'er bleak rocks, in one eternal clasp ! 

Stop in these caves ! A dreary darkness reigns ! 

By torchlight view the roomy, ancient stores; 
The pendant lime stalactite at the roof; 

The stalagmites upon the rock-form'd floors, — 
Old Nature's columns, that still stand aloof! 

Night, the inhabitant of these domains. 
Leaves but a shadow by the torch's light ! 

And Darkness, his sweet bride, this flame dis- 
dains. 
And, arm in arm, flees with the shades of Night ! 

Blind brooklets, ceaseless babbling in the dark ! 

Grim shafts seem bottomless close to our tread, 
In which they spill, with cavernous murmurings, 

Their untaught languages of groaning dread ! 
And the black bat, on its intruding wings, 

Strikes on the dingy cones — leaves but a mark 
Soon sweeted up ! The damp drip of the cave, 

Like diamond globes, sends forth a beauteous 
spark, 
Soon blotted out with one nocturnal wave ! 



THE NATIONAL GLORIA. 1 79 

The slimy reptiles of these haunts of drear 

Uncoil themselves, and slink into retreat ; 
The mighty walls and nightly barriers ; 

The hissing rillets, wandering at our feet — 
All this within the hideous dream appears, 

To make a vision that can but appear 
In dreams — through which we wander to behold 

The volumes that we read from year to year, 
And read again — they never can grow old. 

Yet we return. Nor darkness be our theme. 

Though we have wandered in these mystic haunts 
To feel the spell, and look on hidden stores. 

The brave heart of a journey nothing daunts, 
For we have wandered where the lion roars, 

And faced a warring foe within our dream : — 
Let us behold the quiet of the morn. 

The shifting glamour of its earliest beam. 
And hear again the mountain's pealing horn. 

Here in the glamour of these morning rays, 

That shed a lustre o'er the feathery pine. 
We sit and muse. Oh, spirit of sped years! 

Oh, follower, I see thy glory shine ! 
And yet we wipe away some sorrowing tears, 

For life is counting out our youthful days. 
And in the future distance, doth arise 

An umber cloud unto the lingering gaze, 
Whose thick, grim aspect prowls along the skies ! 



l80 THE NATIONAL GLORIA. 

But Time must shake our Temples ! and they fall 

Around us, and we listen to their moan ; 
Their glowing turrets tourney o'er by age, 

And massive walls roll over with a groan ! 
Their columns in a season disengage 

Their marble capitals from many a wall ! 
And, like a bubble on life's darkling wave. 

They burst their particles, and move withal, 
A broken palace, to a moaning grave ! 

I would not live alway ! But to grow old, — 

The very words swing pendant in the mind ! 
What are the joys found in decrepitude ? 

What be bright scenes unto the aged and blind? 
What little happiness will then intrude. 

To light with smiles a face so stern and cold ? 
What glories can we prize in after years ? 

Fame cannot purchase, nor can hordes of gold, 
A sheet to mop out these desponding tears ! 

There is a death ! Perhaps ye, too, may feel 

There is a death ! Its repetition oft 
Steals 'mongst our little crew — our joys are 
caught 

Upon the winds, and borne to realms aloft ! 
We cannot let these sorrows pass for naught ! — 

We cannot wonder that we, too, must steal 
Into this darkness, where that ancient band 

Is fastened, 'neath the earth's eternal seal ; 
Where gloom, and death, and darkness all expand! 



THE NATIONAL GLORIA. l8l 

There is a death ! Ye shudd'ring mortals quake! 

Ye living witnesses of time's decay, 
Arise and view these shattering tenements, 

Commingling with the pale and clodded clay. 
Where long the worm their shrouding sable rents! 

Ye living mortals, to this death awake ! 
Ye sons, by halidom, must take this birth ! 

And years of silence with it must ye take 
In this lone tomb, grim stores of mother earth 1 

There is a life ! A part of it is past — 

Some hours of joy, but more of misery; 
And wails of bitterness, and ringing cries ; 

And Rachels weeping o'er sad destiny 1 
There is another life within the skies. 

Unfathomable 1 This horoscope ye cast 
With fear and trembling, distance to behold, — 

A void without foundation, reared at last, 
Or realms of love with gates of pearls and gold I 

There is a life ! A hundred years in one. 

An epoch glorious, shines on Freedom's shore ! 
A million hearts are swelling with the glow 

Of gaudy traps. We hear the cannon roar 
In blooming dale, o'er mountain-peaks of snow! 

And see a goddess young, reared on a throne, 
The centenary lights along the line, 

And ancient flags within the breezes blow. 
Where blazing stars are twinkling as they shine ! 
i6 



152 THE NATIONAL GLORIA. 

Centennial stars! Oh! man of glist'ning sword, 

And tasselled head, and epaulets of gold ! 
Oh ! steed, caparisoned with richest plume, 

Beneath the waving flag of silken fold! 
Oh ! maiden wreath'd with sweetest, rosy blo'om ! 

Go where that ancient gun of Putnam roared ! 
Go where the masses drink of Freedom's dower! 

Go where the sons of Liberty once poured 
Their shot and shell, with trembling guns of power! 

These crowding beauties of this famed array. 

Of gorgeous chariots, fiU'd with eyes of mirth ; 
These sounding trumpets, clanging o'er the vills ; 

Enthusiastic shouts give glory birth ! 
Go plant thy flag-pole on the loftiest hill. 

And stake the cannon on the mountain gray ! 
Then fire ! Then ring that famous, ancient bell ! 

Then sing the psalm of honor ! Boom away ! 
Let go that blast ! — It thunders o'er the dell! 

A hundred years ! Our sun is rising still ! 

And in another, on as swift a wheel, 
That rolls the car of Progress to the west. 

What will bright genius to the light reveal ? 
What cities will illume our vernal crest ! 

What massive domes will stand on yonder hill ! 
What cannon wake the morning's breezy air ! 

What implements! — what husbandmen will till 
This looming earth, or rack the brain with care ! 



THE NATIONAL GLORIA. 1 83 

Home of the Genius ! thou America — 

Home of the brave ! land of the great and free ! 
Around us gather sturdy sons of toil; 

These are the sons, the pride of Liberty, 
Whose -ripe inventions turn the smiling soil ; 

United oceans by the iron stay, 
Banded the earth with a continuous rail; 

Taught the electric current to portray 
Of foreign realms, how winds the nation's gale ! 

In silent whispers, 'neath the ocean's groan. 

Thy genius learned a wond'ring world to speak : 
And by the ticking wires, adjoining lands 

Are neighbors made. Centennial freak ! 
Each year thy mighty implement expands ; 

Each year we count the pillars of thy throne; 
We number them, and wonder each decade 

Of other blazing capitals ! Alone 
This nation's work stands beautifully made. 

Wonderfully developed wilderness ! 

Thy tunnelled mountains and thy down-torn hills, 
And dried-up marshes of the dreary wold ; 

Thy commerce-guarded rivers; thy turned rills, 
That water fields and pampas manifold. 

Coupled unto the car of Progress, press 
On through Time's manse: with engine prow of 
steel. 

Ye drive ahead ; and with the age progress 
With dauntless tread and unretarded wheel. 



184 THE NATIONAL GLORIA. 

We feel its tread. Past years have claimed its 
spoil ; 

The present centenary marks its course, 
And flags at each decade the car : It goes 

Like might in untold years — with burning force, 
It brands the season with the name of those 

Who are most great : Expands by days of toil ; 
And through bleak night its terror-clanging shriek 

Rings to the winds : By faction and turmoil. 
It moves a giant, crushing out the weak ! 

Unloading in the past great hordes of store. 

Where busy mortals dwell ! 'T is thy reward : 
Hast thou not reap'd its wealth ? hast thou not been 

Its lab'ring minister, or singing bard ? 
On ! through the wail of many a battle din 

In life. On ! where the halcyon hours hang o'er 
Earth's earth, ye followed, but to reap and read 

Its glories, and elate its thunder roar; 
And praised the limbs of its contending steed ? 

Believe me, yonder crystal-frosted tower 

Of silver'd cupola that looks o'er lands, 
Shines gladsome in this famous morning light, 

More beautiful and radiant, it expands 
Like some celestial tome of love's delight ! 

For Freedom's banner, with its fretted glower 
Of twinkling stars and stripes, waves in the air, 

Flagging o'er minions of a former hour, 
And a new birth to glory's golden glare ! 



THE NATIONAL GLORIA. 1 85 

The prancing steed ! the hurried tramp ! — the 
show 

Of milHon worshippers unto this shrine ; 
The buzz of unknown tongues in listless ears ; 

Enthusiastic heroines in the line ; 
In expositions of these hundred years 

Gathered together, in a mystic stow, 
In a pavilion mammoth to the gaze, 

Where strangers mingle, wand'ring to and fro, 
But to behold a Nation's boast and praise ! 

The thund'ring car of eager faces, filled. 

Comes rolling with its mighty weight of life, 
From cits of wealth, from every joyous state ; 

And beating bosoms, fiU'd with anxious strife. 
And whisp'ring tongues of freedom's life elate, — 

These, these are on this earth of wonder spill'd, 
To add unto the noisy din's hurrah ! 

To these this canopy of heaven must yield 
Its coverlet, and mercy's salient law ! 

The wail of poverty, the cry of pain. 

The tears of sadness, and the doom of sin. 
Are swallowed up by the excited mass ! 

Usurped by strife, and drown'd by rustling din 
Of thousands, madly hurrying, to pass 

A threshold that they ne'er will pass again ! 
And, as a cloud on mountain forest swings. 

Ye mingle with the sprigs that gaze in vain. 
In vain ye shake the crowd, which closely clings ! 
16* 



1 86 THE NATIONAL GLORIA. 

Yet searcher of the beauteous form and face, 

Who tarry by the marble bustos reared 
In pictured halls, embossed with glaring frame : 

Behold Dulcina ! that some one endeared, 
Of face all roseate, eyes of goodly aim, 

Take in the heart's field — undeserting place; 
And still another, beautiful as she, 

With noble brow and princely tracing grace. 
Steps like a fairy, sweet with Liberty ! 

A wanderer amid a wond'ring crowd, 

Where beauteous shades of showy trinkets lie. 
And things of worth, and ancient models — olden 

And rusted with vile years : ye pass them by! 
Look on the portraits of the great — bright, golden;. 

Then hear some speaker boldly cry aloud; 
Or hear the music of some lovely song 

From rosy lip, a breast as true and proud ; 
A voice that rings with pathos — deep and strong ! 

Thus we grow weary of the world : we turn 

Where rest and quiet offer beds of ease ; 
Nor ask those ermine folds of sweet repose ; 

Or dreams of ecstasy, that may appease 
Our wearied limbs ; we find no blooming rose, 

Sweet perfumed parlors, fires that kindly burn, — 
Nor living barriers against our foes. 

Nor homes of plenty : yet we often yearn 
For things a hero deems as good as those ! 



THE NATIONAL GLORIA. 1 8/ 

And like the sun we set : to rise again 

In morning with the sounding of the drum ! 
We heard within our dreams these thunderings, 

We heard the everlasting din and hum 
Of unknown voice, that every second brings 

A new-born feature to our eyes ; and then 
We but behold again the lovely form 

Of woman, or the sterner face of men. 
Move forth and disappear amid the storm ! 

Let us pass over. Turn aside from days 

With so much crowded life within one hour, 
And look upon a blank. The soul needs rest, 

And, like a fowl that turns from out a shower. 
We lay us down in realms of quiet, blest; 

And like a deep-mouth'd dog, that dreams and 
bays, 
Do we in visions groan of earthly pride ; 

And like a lion roar, and sleepily gaze 
On floods of humans in a mammoth tide ! 

Perhaps that all is well. Let us forget 

This little life of mis'ry, which. should merge 
Into a greater life — after the dead 

Seem past earth's dreary desert, and the scourge 
That lashes hard upon the aching head ! 

Let us pass over, when the sun is set, 
To some elysian bounds where all is pure ; 

Seek a sweet shade of beauty — and there let 
Us live a life true pleasure to endure. 



1 88 THE NATIONAL GLORIA. 

I think I see a Meteor ! Behold 

A blaze o'er these hibernal mountains tall, 
Writing in gilded letters of a time 

When glory shall build up a granite wall, 
And make unto herself a happy clime ! 

Virgin of prophecy, of wings of gold, 
And with the indelible marks that pen 

Can only write on flinted rock, enroll'd. 
There brands the destiny, the fate of men ! 

'Tis the Millennium! Sweet sisters, smile 

Within my lonesome dream ! These wintry 
storms 
Have shorn my garden-path of sweet perfume ; 

And where there used to come fair, lovely forms, 
Such as have wasted like a flow'ret's bloom, 

I see no sweet array. Yet o'er yon aisle 
That leads into the future, like a seer, 

I see a Haloed glow ! A little while. 
Or many a long decade until this year. 

Like some bright star of Glory, let it shine ! 

For it is beautiful, within a night. 
As some lone sylph, or mandate of the soul, 

That ceases struggling in the world of might, 
And seeks repose where nothing dare control 

The breast save lovely forms, or forms divine ; 
Such forms that do enkindle better gems 

Of thought within men's breasts- — who oft repine, 
Nor bear earth's blows, nor reap fame's diadems! 



THE NATIONAL GLORIA. 1 89 

It is a glorious light! with lambent train : 

Effulgent star in its meridian 
Of dazzling splendor, streaming o'er the sea; 

Like shreds of gold along the horizon, 
It floats, as gossamer of mystery ! 

It comes like seraph brilliant — not amain, 
But like a graceful raylet, through the breeze, 

Its meteoric glaze trinkling like rain, 
When a sunlight paints rainbow o'er the trees ! 

It comes ! Behold its chariot-flame aglow ! 

The wheels emblazoned with the golden age, 
And Time, the steed, caparisoned with love, 

And the white Beauties, with hosanna's badge. 
Move on and upward to a throne above. 

Ye ! born of marble fairness, like to snow, 
Who wear the crown of the celestial band, 

Now blow thy silver trumpet! Loud ye blow. 
With the soft trump, unto this fairy land ! 

An^ following this perdition ! — and then Death, 

On its expectant steed, the pale white horse : 
And then the dragon and the scorpion lash 

The upheaved dead — decayed and mangled 
corse ! 
Then from acclivities, with deafening crash, 

Roll the huge boulders in the waves beneath 1 
And in the surging billows do we see 

The cursing forms of souls that live to breathe 
The frowns of Him who reigns a Deity! 



IpO THE NATIONAL GLORIA. 

Thus it is writ. But there are sweeter things 

Of which I dream. Perhaps in these dark days, 
Like some fleet spirit, we will seek a shore 

Where the celestial sun brings softer rays, 
And dread and darkness, with all gloom passed 
o'er, 

Will stand beneath us ; for with heavenly wings 
There '11 be transition. What is even this dread. 

Or the destruction that its terror brings. 
To lifeless form or the unheeding head ? 

But these are the last days. . 'T is a dark year, 

And devastation sits upon the deep ! 
And all the elements, from near and far. 

Become displaced! The dead shall no more 
sleep. 
And with all particles of earth shall war. 

Like fiend uncompromising ! Those once dear 
Will melt within the mighty mass, and moan, 

And gnash their teeth, and weep with unseen 
tear. 
Until their spirit dies out with a groan ! 

At best, what are these living works, that stand 
Like falling towers, and fading imagery. 

From life's drear dream — life's dream within a 
dream ? 
And levelling o'er, like breakers on the sea, 

New columns rise unto the morning's gleam ; 



THE NATIONAL GLORIA. I9I 

New bubbles build and break upon each hand ; 
New cyclones shake the tenements of men, 

Who plant once more foundations on the 
land, 
Whose age-rent walls fall tenantless again ! 

And yet these monuments of years' renown 

Bear lettered in their marble, lines of time. 
They fall : — These sculptured lines are read no 
more ! — 

No more ye read of honor in its prime, 
Nor ask what structure lit that land before ; 

Nor ask what day such buildings were torn 
down ! 
On yonder hill the lime-white ceil is lain, 

And crumbling in the dust : a busy town 
Is building now along that old domain ! 

And the hoarse wind is howling round the 
halls, 

With winter snows upon its wailing wings ; 
And darkest night and bleakest seasons pass, 

And gladsome days, such as an Aiden brings, 
With golden prophecy — yet all, alas ! 

Just like a sigh that on the breezes falls, 
This drops in the abyss of that sad stream 

Which undermines the weighty, rock - built 
walls. 
And, floodlike, sweeps away this fitful dream ! 



192 THE NATIONAL GLORIA. 

Whatc ampion reigns in these subverted realms? 

The low, dim clamor of Death's chariot-wheel 
Rolls o'er the deep, with an impetuous stride ! 

Like a huge cyclone goes the axle steel 
With crash on crash ! The forest trees are tried I 

The mighty oak, the huge and bended elm, 
Beneath the tyrant stroke abysmed are borne ; 

Like wreck all buoyantless, with loss of helm. 
They roar, a mass of ruin rent and torn ! 

Oh, doomsday drear ! Behold the gathering 
night ! 

The umber cloud comes gathering from afar ! 
The earthquake shaking mountains to their base ! 

The chainless elements, with self at war, 
Speak doleful messages ! Darkness stands apace ; 

With the grim shadows, blots out heaven's light! 
Move the thick waves of an unguided mass, 

Like faint, retreating trophies in the flight 
Fall dead — dethroned ere nature lets them pass! 

The monumented temples strike the earth, — 

Fall crashing, with a never-dying roar I 
And tenements of age and strength, renown, 

Rock from their planted pillars to the core ! 
Like an ocean breaker, it is broken down ! 

Huge, massive structures of a giant birth 
Crack to their very base, and fall away ; 

And glory, that had claimed a kingly worth. 
Fades like a mist before a morning ray ! 



THE NATIONAL GLORIA. 1 93 

Eternal space ! the vision can create 

Far as the trembling eye beholds ! — thy fleet, 
Misguided planets in the realms of air 

Go flying, like a thunder-bolt, to meet 
And brast against the worlds that wander there 

With a continuous wail ! And where thou, Fate ? 
Thou unpropitious spirit of life's bark, 

Where art thou pinnacled, or perched in state. 
To cast thy scorn on age, so grim and dark ? 

Worlds, moons, and meteors, thy revolving 
spheres. 

Clanking, yet chainless, in their broken path ! 
The unenshrined, like ruin clattering, burst 

And pour in the abyss their foaming wrath, 
Commingling, unabsorbed ! The damned, the 
curs'd, 

From whited sepulchres arise! These years 
Are told in prophecy — the record stands ! — 

In Holy Writ its torment still appears 
Earth's fate — and things arreared by human hands ! 

Realms, thrones, kingdoms, and empires, where 

are they. 
When their great fortresses and walls are dust ? 
Swept with the avalanche into the grave ! 

And 'midst the moaning mass their trappings 
thrust, 
Go smouldering like a captor in the wave ! 
17 N 



194 THE NATIONAL GLORIA. 

And senates hove like rubbish in the sway ; 
And but one wail seems from this mass to rise ; 

'T is the undying call for a faint ray ! 
But there is no more lierht — and no more skies! 



LAST DAYS. 

When the last ray of Orient light 
Approaches faintly to the earth, 
When prophet voices speak of Night, 
That gives the morn unholy birth ! 
What form below shall guard his earthly store, 
Or ask of Fame its glory as before ? 

When the last rose on earth shall bloom ! 
When the last buzzing bee shall hum ! 
After a legion in the tomb 

Lie stored away, and cold and numb ! 
Oh ! who shall gather from the harvest plain ? 
Or on the vain earth seek for worldly gain ? 

When the last bell on earth shall toll. 
And ring its peals to hush forever! 
When the last cannon's boom shall roll 
O'er city,'plain, and pouring river I 
Shall there be victors moving on to war, 
To send their telegrams of death afar ? 



THE NATIONAL GLORIA. 1 95 

When the last tide rolls from the ocean, 

With the last murmur of the wave ! 
Shall human heart be then in motion, 
Beating for fashion, still a slave, 
Till the last horn in music shall steal over 
What pride has formed, and shake its tome forever? 

When the last lover sits at even, 

Wooing with accents sweet and low ! 
When the last moon ascends the heaven, 
The fairy stars their last shall glow ! 
Shall there be castles in the dream for fame ? 
Or shall ambition lift no blazing name ? 

When the last cock in morn is crowing, 

The pewit fluttering at the eve ; 
When the last gale on earth is blowing, 
And the last spider runs to weave : 
Shall there be nuptials ? Shall the band be blown ? 
Or shall a king sit merry on his throne ? 

When the last lamb at field is bleating. 

As innocent, its cheery call ! 
The sparrow is its last repeating 
On limbs soon to be leafless all ! 
Shall there be dances, skipping of the feet. 
When lips have kissed their last, and ceased to 
meet? 



196 THE NATIONAL GLORIA. 

When the last fabric fine is woven, 

Then shall there be hopes immortal! 
When the last loaf is in the oven, 
In life is there a hungry soul 
To crave for time, and for an endless story. 
Visions of earth — for Fortune or for Glory ? 





MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 




17 



197 



SPIRIT CONFIDANTE. 

THERE are some secrets in our hearts of 
sadness, 
We hope to hide within the tomb : 
Those that disturb our hopeful lives of gladness 
Too often bring us gloom ! 

These secrets cause us daily lamentation, — 

The weight of sorrow still untold. 
They which have broke us since their own creation 

Grow weightier, and grow old. 

We tell a spirit which we know will hide them 

Within its sacred, truthful breast : 
Exact no promise that it will abide them 

A place, that they may rest. 

Oft e'en our loved ones break our hearts with an- 
guish, 
And pangs of deep, continuous wound, 
Indeed, which may have taught us oft to languish. 

Be with a sorrow found, 

199 



200 SPIRIT CONFIDANTE. 

For we have loved with gentle, fond affection, 

Those idols that at length became 
Possessed by friends ; but not at our election, 

And 'gainst our kindliest aim. 

We cannot trust on earth our little trouble. 
For those to whom we might confide 

May turn, and make our mis'iy even double, 
When to us they have died ! 

In holy lands sometimes we see a vision 

Of the departed ones we trust; 
Those that were torn from us by death's decision 

We followed on to dust ! 

We think the secrets that we told the dying 
Are fastened with the keys of love, 

Who take them to their bosoms, sadly sighing. 
Then fly to lands above ! 

Thus, those that pass immediate unto glory, 
Nor live to meet frail friends of earth, 

Might keep our very sad and burdening story. 
Which gives this mis'ry birth. 

Perhaps it would assist them to pass over — 

Forget the little joys in life ; 
Reflect on the deceit of friends and lover, 

Which makes this inly strife. 



SPIRIT CONFIDANTE. 20I 

But, when our dearest loved ones, dying, leave us 
With blessing on their lips, and prayers, 

We think ere death they '11 welcome and receive us. 
And mix our lives with theirs. 

And in the palace of a holy mansion 

Beyond, in some celestial air, 
Imagination from the mind's expansion 

Oft takes our spirit there ! 

And then in whispers oft we ease our sorrow, 

And the archangels give us balm ; 
And then we deem the billows on the morrow 

Will be more smooth and calm ! 

And on the morrow we lie down forever, 
With pallid face, and welcome death ; 

And new-born babes such trials as these discover, — 
For sorrow comes with breath ! 




NEVERMORE. 

OH ! nevermore ! " And Time is dead ! 
An umber cloud hangs o'er his head ; 
Around him gathering forms appear, 
And on his brow the feverish tear 

Falls vagrant o'er 
That pallid cheek, the sunken eye, 
The lips that shuddered and passed bv : 
The icy brow, with lines of death : 
The lips that said, with latest breath, 

" Oh ! nevermore ! " 

' Ah ! nevermore ! " In grief they stand, 
And vainly clasp the icy hand ; 
And speak to form inanimate, 
That dropped from life its fallen weight 

Down to that shore 
From whence they ne'er return : — Alas ! 
How many to this darkness pass ! 
How many say their sad farewell. 
And, with their latest speeches, tell 
Us " Nevermore ! " 



'NE VERMORE. 203 

" Ah ! nevermore ! " With sorrow blind, 
They watch their dearest love confined, 
And shrieks that rend the heedless air 
Go out from those who follow there, 

Unto death's door ! 
The cold clay heaves above the form ! 
The night-winds mingle with the storm ! 
And the departed seem to say, 
From out their lonely bed of clay, 

" Oh ! nevermore ! " 

There is a death ! Dark shadows fall. 
And dirges drear moan 'round the wall ! 
Wringing of hands, and deep-drawn sighs ; 
The sable hearse, 'neath umber skies, 

That passed before ! 
Cloaks tenebrose wrapped 'round sad forms. 
The tolling bell of drear alarms. 
Funereal marching to the tomb. 
All speak through clouds of deathly gloom, 

" Aye ! nevermore ! " 

Lugubrious voices at the gate, 
From purple lips, made desolate, 
May tell how oft he passed that way ! 
But only once they heard him say 

That sad tale o'er ! 
And watched him catch his latest breath : 
And even to the gates of death 



204 SONG OF LOVE. 

Lingered, to pay a last farewell, 
And hear those lips of anguish tell, 
" Ah ! nevermore ! " 

" Aye ! nevermore ! " Creation gave 
To earth these mortals for the grave : 
They spring up like the flowers of earth, 
And go to Him who gave them birth, — 

To a bright store ! 
It may be long — it may not be, — 
Thy dearest friend will follow thee ; 
And to the lingering ones that wait 
We '11 say, while close to heaven's gate, 

" No ! nevermore ! " 



SONG OF LOVE. 

OH ! I love thee wildly well. 
As the poets love their dreams ; 
Or as the dew-drop loves to be drank 
By the bright sunbeams ! 

In some mystic garden fold. 

Oft I hear thy angel tread 
Trip o'er the rose-leaf, then die away 

To the dreamy dead ! 

Oh ! I love thee wildly well, 

By the mountain to the sea, 
And where the soft wind wafts from the wold 

Thy sweet voice to me ! 



WORN OUT. 205 

In the lonely, winding dell, 

Where the roving mosses grow; 

Or where the tulips lisp to the breeze 
Thy name, quaint and low ! 

Oh ! I love thee wildly well, 
As the poets love their dreams ; 

Or as the sweet rose loves to be kissed 
By the sweet moonbeams ! 



WORN OUT. 

I'M just worn out, I tell you ; 
I sat down to rise no more ; 
I 'm ragged and worn with toiling, 

And tired, and sad, and sore ; 
And my limbs are stiff and aching, 

And I scarce can get about. 
And a using future sees me 

A desp'rate man, worn out. 
I married a wife named Anne, 

But she did not wear so well. 
And it 's many years I 'm lonely. 

With sorrow I dare not tell ! 
My horse is as feeble as I be. 

And my wagon, much knocked about, 
Is broken in spoke and tire, — 

With me, it is just worn out. 
18 



206 WORN OUT. 

My breeches, of many colors, 

Are torn in a million shreds, 
And my hat has lost its crown most,- 

Too olden for manly heads ; 
My bony fingers are failing. 

And my eyes scarce look about, 
Except, with their dim perception. 

They show me companions worn out ! 
My shoes are tattered and soleless ; 

My stockings, with ragged edge, 
I left this morning, as useless, 

Hang yonder upon the hedge. 
I 'm just worn out, I tell you ; 

I never can rise again ! 
Misfortune and sickness have kept me 

A drudge for some other men ; 
And I cannot bite my corn-bread ; 

My teeth are long lost out. 
I will unhitch forever, 

For I cannot get about. 
My youthful fire has dwindled. 

So long ago, I say. 
My mind, so old and feeble, 

Scarce traces back the way ! 
But I know I was a strong man. 

And I boasted of my strength, 
But this creeping age of shadows 

Stole it away at length. 



WORN OUT. 

I had a chance to marry 

To an heiress once, a day, 
But another rogue, more taky, 

He stole the girl so gay. 
And I married loving Anne, 

And it changed my fate, I know. 
For she was as poor as I be, 

And it added to my woe ! 
And you know misfortune followed. 

Till it ne'er can follow more ; 
For I 've unhitched forever. 

Never to tramp it o'er ; 
For I 'm worn out, I tell you, 

A wreck that drove a wreck, 
And poor old Bob is fly-stung, 

Too weak to shake his neck ! 
He '11 ne'er get up in morning. 

For I '11 not need him more ; 
His toil, with mine, I tell you, 

At last has passed us o'er ! 
Oh, come, kind friends, and bury 

Us both somewhere about. 
For I know we 're sadly useless, 

And terribly worn out ! 



207 





WHISPERS OF A DOOMED SPIRIT. 

A LUGUBRIOUS breath, 
In the chill hours of a darkling night, 

Whispered of death ! — 
Was it the moan of breeze, 
Creating such unholy fright, 
With its blight, 

Around the roof-entangled trees ! 
Or a spirit doomed, 

Returned to tell the tale. 
With all its drear exhumed. 
Unto the gale ! 

It came ! It came ! 
And with its icy lips of death, 

Whisper'd its ghoul-like name. 
With chilling breath. 
Into my ear ! 
Such sounds forevermore I hear ! I hear ! 
It said ! It said ! 
" I am a spirit of the dead ! " 

208 



WHISPERS OF A DOOMED SPIRIT. 2O9 

Aye ! Some days ago, 
I had a brother in the world of strife ; 

I struck the blow, 
And took that brother's life, 

In maddened hour! 
Knew not the morglay of my power ! 

He fell ! He fell ! 
Mine was the doom of hell ! 
The grim hand of the law. 
Bound me with awe ; 

Chained me within an iron cell ! 
A dungeon dark ! 

Dark as the ebon grave, 
That knows not e'en a twilight spark ! 
In crime a slave ! 

Within that limpid cell, 

In chains of hell ! 
Some dreaded hours passed by. 

I could not call for aid ; 
The walls closed in the cry 

I made ! I made ! 
A frowning populace, 
With cursing and mock face, 
Like wild beasts, roamed around ! 
I heard the dreaded sound ! 

My doom was death ! 
I heard their chisel's click. 
Deep in my soul, and held my fainting breath ! 
The ponderous stroke, the tick, 
18* O 



210 WHISPERS OF A DOOMED SPIRIT. 

Their heavy tramp beneath, 
And the portentous curse, 
Still growing worse and worse ! 
The rasping of the file. 
That cut keen edges in my flesh the while ! 

I heard ! I heard ! 
The turning of the keys ; 

The yielding of the iron doors 
Beneath the strength of pries, — 
Beneath the sledge's roars, — 
Made way the bars that banned 

Me from the air ! 
Rushed in, with iron hand. 
And grasped my trembling form of dire despair. 
Legions of grim-like ghouls ! 
Legions of heartless souls ! 
Grasping me by the throat ! 

Dragging me from a death, 
E'en to another death not far remote ! 
Hurried me to the tomb ! 
Deepest, blackest gloom ! 
I met my doom ! I met my doom ! 

The icy breath, . 
The cold lips, telling of this death, 

Drew from my aching ear ; 
But still lugubrious tones, 
And direst, troubled groans 



i 



S YL VAN MINSTRELS. 2 1 1 

I hear ! I hear ! 
But from the spell I woke, — 
The dream had broke ! 
With cold sweat on my brow ! — 
The thrilling scene comes now, 

In murmurs of the breeze. 
That howl and lash the dark wings of the trees ! 



SYLVAN MINSTRELS. 

SWEET, balmy breezes from the wold, — 
A million voices ring! 
^olian chords of gold, 
In fairy beauty, sing 
Then songs the peerless sung 
A thousand years ago ; and praising still, in secret 
sweet, 
In unknown tongue ! 

Fair, breezy morning — hie the rays ! 

The mountain-streaming light ! 
The vision's halcyon days, 

That follow up the night ! — 
Then songs the peerless sung 
A thousand years ago are ringing still, and 
wildly sweet. 
From unknown tongue ! 



212 SYL VAN MINSTRELS. 

From flow'ry fields and sacred dale, 

And where the rillet flows, 
The chords sweep on the gale ! 
O'er diamond dew it blows ! 
With songs the peerless sung 
A thousand years ago, and singing still, in beauty 
sweet, 
With unknown tongue ! 

The love-tone of the dreaming swain. 

The maiden's lullabies, 
Are with the angel strain 

Meandering o'er the leas ! 
Those strains the peerless sung 
A thousand years ago, and come in glory still 
From unknown tongue ! 





TO EVA. 

I THINK I hear the music of an angel 
In my sweet dreams, 
And see again a happy, smiling beauty, 

Of sunny beams. 
Most glorious image for some mystic haven 

Of happy bowers, 
Environ'd with celestial, blooming portals 
Of bird and flowers! 

It is thy face, so shining with sweet glory 

Of angel light, 
That haunts me ever from my garden wand'rings 

With hopes still bright ! 
It is thy form — thy voice of deepest music. 

Of whispers low, 
Which leads me in a dream, thro' realms celestial. 

From worldly woe ! 

I think I hear those old-time murmurs fall 

In holy strain. 
And catch the tone that floats upon the zephyr 

Through this domain ! 

213 



214 RIVER OF LIFE. 

Sweet Eva, sing while in my dreams I wander 

To realms more fair; 
For I will know thy spirit, full of sweetness, 

Will meet me there ! 

Jt is thy face, so beaming with contentment 

But few possess ; 
It is thy hand, of jewels fair with diamonds, 

I 'd love to press ! 
It is thy mind, whose gem appears immortal, 

Which seems divine ; 
Thy loving heart, beneath that snowy bosom, 

I 'd press to mine ! 



RIVER OF LIFE. 

BESIDE the stream, dividing earth and heaven. 
That rolls its midnight waves along ; 
Beside the murmurs of the river, 
The gathering throng, — 

They sigh for spirits that they think pass'd over 
To a more famed and golden shore; 

But many a soul is lost forever 
Within its roar! 

On other shores the purified seem singing 

The anthems to elysian souls. 
While far behind the darkling river 

In anger rolls ! 



RIVER OF LIFE. 2 1 5 

And still beside these mighty, roaring waters 
The pilgrims gather from afar, — 

In prayers behold the golden glory, 
Their guiding star ! 

Ten thousand yearly stem the tide of terror, 
And cries come up, from out the wave. 

From those who found within that billow 
A watery grave ! 

And still they gather — ready to pass over 

In some frail, hopeless bark, named Death, 

And to our ears in stricken accents 
Their parting breath ! 

" Farewell 1 " It is the voice of loved ones dying, 
Or going home to endless night ! 

Soon shall this mighty midnight ocean 
Shut out their light ! 

** Farewell ! " and with the dreary, moaning waters 
We wash these bitter tears away ! 

"Farewell! thou 'It follow on the morrow," 
They, dying, say ! 





RUBY LIPS. 

'"T^HY lips, the pouting alveole 
-L Of sweetest carmine hues, 
Where oft dissolved my dreaming soul, 
Insuming honey dews ! 

Their babbling messages of love, 

Beneath the kalmia tree — 
The voice elysian of the grove 

So oft returns to me ! 

Their murmur sweet, the palinode 
That touch'd the bosom's chord ; 

Their music where the zephyrs flov/ed. 
And kissed away thy word ! 

Is stealing ever in my breast. 

Inditing loving lays; 
The songs of one so sweetly blest. 

To whom I sing my praise ! 

Oh let me linger often where 

Thy ruby lips of love 
Be sweetest, in the evening air, 

Within the kalmia grove ! 

216 




A SPECTRUM. 

TIS sleepless night! not even a starbeam falls 
upon the walls ; 
I hear low whispers in the halls, 
A quickening shudder o'er my person crawls ! 
I think I see a ghost approach and tread ! bend 

o'er my head ! 
And then I try to mock the dead, 
And hush my breath until the ghoul has fled ! 

Dark, ominous vision ! Oh, for some bright beam, 

to gently stream. 
And wipe away this fitful dream 
Of midnight ghosts, I know can only seem ! 
Dark shade of night in dimmer shade appears; thy 

sprite arrears 
A horrid figure, filling me with fears, 
Such as I have not known for many years ! 



Ah ! see, it moves ! and nods along the halls, and 

on the walls 
A shadow, growing darker, falls; 
Its icy finger on my railing crawls ! 

19 217 



2l8 A SPECTRUM. 

And then it wanders to the ancient door, and as 

before, 
I see it pass its bony fingers o'er 
The latch, and then depart forevermore ! 

Another evil spirit of the night comes in affright | 

A darker form, a deadlier sight, 

Comes like a winter storm of fatal blight ! 

And from its eyelids — those fantastic balls — a 

raylet falls, 
A devilish light'ning on the hideous walls, 
While o'er my breast its feverish finger crawls ! 

Dark, ominous vision of a fitful dream ! Oh, wretched 

theme ! 
Weak thread to life, and rotten seam ; 
Oh for a life in some celestial beam ! 
It comes again — worse weeds than death e'er wore, 

and as before. 
But with a fiercer aspect than it bore, 
With shaggy mane and garment stained with gore ! 

It comes again ! and o'er my virtuous bed it lifts 

its head ; 
I cease to breathe — I live instead 
A choking mortal, that appears so dead ; 
I live a being deathly pale with fears, but dearth 

of tears — ■ 

Its ugly form again like death arrears, 
Ominous ! such as I have not known for years ! 



TO PAX I: ADIEU. 2ig 

But I awake ! — a starbeam faintly falls upon the 

walls, 
And a sweet sister gently calls 
To me from out some cheery dining halls, 
And I beheld a morn so sweet and bright, and 

fading night, 
And not a spectrum moves unto the sight, 
For phantom-like they sped from morning light ! 



TO PAXI: ADIEU! 

A GENTLE moan comes still in whispers, 
As if some seraph breathed to me 
Through music, with sweet voice enchanted, 
In murmurs of thy pleasantry. 
But one adieu of bitter anguish 

Dismantles my once hopeful soul, 
And visions pall me with a sadness 
I neither dare nor can control ! 

E'en time cannot repress the sorrow. 
Nor kill affection's kindled flame ; 
Destroy a once suspected glory. 

Nor drown the sweetness of a name ! 
To thee I kiss the morning breezes, 
As, with a thought too sad to tell, 
I gently kiss the evening zephyrs, 
To moan to thee a sweet farewell ! 




SHOWERS OF CRYSTALS. 

GEMS of' beauty falling lightly, tinkling, 
twinkling, 
Jingling crystals showering on us ; 
Hear their tinselled-tinted music sprinkling, trink- 

Gaudy beads of pearls upon us, 
Trinklingf, twinklinof! 



Bursting germs ofsilverblossom, strangely tingling, 

Sound like tiny bells in hearing, 
Aiid in sunlight's glinting raylet, forms are sing- 
ling, 
Radiant diamonds oft appearing, — 
Tingling, jingling ! 

Coral chaplets, quaintly trundled, jewels dripping; 

Golden ingots — shells in soundingr 
Like an angel's fairy footstep, tripping, skipping. 

Full of jingling bells abounding. 
Dripping, tripping ! 



BEAUTIFUL DREAMER. 221 

Garlands full of glassy frosting, beaming, gleaming, 

Starry petals brightly blazing, 
Likeadewdrop raylet haunted, soft light streaming, 

Like a diamond glistering, glazing, 
Shimm'ring, beaming ! 

Showers of crystals falling lightly, see them shim- 
mer ; 
See their fairy-painted cluster ! 
Their enamelled disks are hissing sounds like 
simmer ; 
See them shine with sweetest lustre, — 
How they glimmer ! 



BEAUTIFUL DREAMER. 

BEAUTIFUL dreamer, let me be 
An airy nymph, in a fairy land, 
With a crown of pearls in a marble hand ! 

Beautiful dreamer, all for thee 

I 'd brighten the path with starry light, 
And beckon to thee of lands more bright ! 

Beautiful sleeper, on witli me ! 

Come, fly like a feath'ry, silver mist, 

To the land some rosy elfin kissed! 

To all the dreamers sweet to thee. 

Beautiful dreamer of the lea. 

In visions of love fly swift with me ! 

19* 



222 WAITING AT THE GATE. 

Beautiful dreamer, let me be 

A feathery cloud in a fairy land, 
With a purple arm, and a golden hand ! 
* Beautiful dreamer, fly with me ! 

And let me press thy snowy breast 
With sweets, as it was never press'd ! 

Beautiful dreamer, o'er the sea 
I 'd fly, a feathery, purple cloud. 
Of rosy-tinted, heavenly shroud. 
For all the dreamers sweet to thee ! 
Beautiful dreamer of the lea. 
In visions of love fly swift to me ! 



r-^if^-* 



WAITING AT THE GATE. 

MY blooming little maid of late 
Is waiting at the garden gate ; 
She 's waiting there for me. Oh ! let me see I 
She 's waiting — waiting there for me ! 

I know she 's dreaming happy dreams ; 
I know it by the eye that beams 
A welcome light to me. Oh ! let me flee ; 
She 's waiting — waiting there for me ! 

She sits upon a grassy mound ; 
Her sweetest flowers are spread around, 
A welcome place to me, — there let me be ; 
She 's waiting — waiting there for me ! 



BENEATH YON CLAY. 223 

And oil ! her soft and silken hair 
Is playing with valley air, 
As if it waved to me. My love I see 
Is waiting — waiting there for me! 

She wreathes herself in rosy wreaths, 
And then I think my name she breathes 
In whispers soft and free ! Beneath a tree 
She 's waiting — waiting there for me ! 

She sings her happy songs, to move 
The spirit that she seems to love ; 
I know she sings to me ! There let me be ; 
She 's waiting — waiting there for me ! 

She folds upon her snowy breast 
The arms with marvel beauty blest ; 
A place of love for me ! It cannot be ! 
She 's waiting — waiting there for me ! 



BENEATH YON CLAY. 

ALONE, beneath yon bulk of clay, 
Lies wrapped a frigid form in death ; 
Whose wasted breath has died away 

From lips stone-still and sealed, beneath 
The thousand feet that round him trod 
O'er his vain coverlet, the cold, pale clod ! 



224 BENEATH YON CLAY. 

And where the bended locust stands, 

The coo-dove moans for some one gone ; 
The owl his filthy breast expands, 

And seeks to wake the evening dawn, 
Where sleepers sleep, and dreamers lie. 
O'er whose gray headstone countless years pass 
by! 

Beneath yon massive monument, 

A princely form heeds time no more ; 
That jewelled frame is closely pent ; 

A mould'ring form, whose da3^s are o'er, 
Sleeps 'neath the mound, o'er which shall wave 
Autumnal winds, blast weeds above the grave ! 

In yonder vault of iron grates. 

Death's dungeon speaks of endless doom ; 
Each death unlocks her rusted gates, 
To take the form unto its gloom, 
And bars the door until the day 
Another soul has passed from life away ! 




SHADOWED TABLATURES. 

MOVING shadows on the wall, 
Dusky figures all ! 
Forming, dying to the gaze ; 

Donzels of quaint ways : 
Cavaliers, and humbled arms, 
Paint on walls their curious forms ! 

By the lamplight's early glow. 

Shadows come and go : 
Forming, changing to the view, 

Ominous signs anew : 
Ladkins — maidens — sires gray, 
Shadow forms that do not stay. 

In the sma' hours of the night, 

By the dim lamplight, 
Bending, leaning 'gainst the wall, 

Passing through the hall. 
Like a sweven do they seem, 
Passing, passing, through a dream ! 
P 225 



226 WAITING B V THE RIVER. 

Weird shadows on the hearth, 
Ghouls of direst birth, 

In the lonel-y night their mock 
Image on the rock 

Nods and bends by us anon, 

Till the dim lamplight is gone ! 

Shades thus tenebrose»appear. 
Filling us with fear, 

As we struggle lives away, 
In the drear of day : 

Mocking, grinning, like a ghoul. 

Nightly ghost of spirit soul ! 



WAITING BY THE RIVER. 

OH ! who has not sat by the river of shadows, 
That rose up its murmurings wide ; 
Imagined a haven, an Eden of roses, 
A bloom far away o'er the tide ? 

Oh ! where are the penniless widows and orphans. 
Thy mothers that mourn o'er their fold ? 

I thought they were all by the river of shadows. 
Lone, weeping, and shivering, and cold ! 

Oh who has not come to these murmuring waters, 
And washed out their tear-drops, to gaze 

Afar o'er the billows to gardens of Eden, 
Where cherubs are waiting their praise ? 



DELIGHTS OF SOLITUDE. 22/ 

A legion of mourners are now by the river, 

And hopeful till life is no more ; 
A deluge of midnight o'ertakes them forever, 

Their number grows less on the shore ! 

But others, as countless as legion by legion, 
Replacing the mourners thus gone, 

Are looking in vain o'er the river of shadows. 
For Edens that never may dawn ! 



DELIGHTS OF SOLITUDE. 

UPON some sky-born mountain tome. 
That looks o'er ocean's waves unrest, 
In cloud-capp'd regions, where the breeze 

Seems with all freshness blest, 
Comes like a benison from off 
The deep, dark deluge of the sea ! 
And 'neath our gaze the loving dell. 
O'er which the mighty eagle soars. 
Sleeps by the rugged, rocky steep. 
In an eternal, sunlit sleep ! 

And purple hues aerial born, 
O'er sylvan ridges, paint, aglow, 

Those loved delights, elysian shades, 
Hosanna's garden — bright halo ! 

With breaths of freshest breeze from off 

The deep, dark deluge of the sea ! 



228 IN STARLIGHT. 

Come, Gloria, to this pinnacle, 
With pastel of the brightest hues, 
And paint on marble canvas, spread, 
This glorious solitude ye shed ! 

Eternal steeps ! hibernal peaks ! — 

Long-silent vales of growing green, 
The murmuring pines, the cedar old. 

The glittering cascades, on the scene 
Move their continuous wave into 
The deep, dark deluge of the sea ! 
Oh ! minstrel, with thy lyric sounds ! 
Oh ! warbling songsters of the vast, 
Sing with me, where these fields intrude 
Their sweet delights of solitude. 



IN STARLIGHT. 

STELLAR twilight ! welkin offerings, — 
Trinkling legion's weird hues — crystal dews ; 
In thy unctuous showers of even, 
Secret tales of pleasure told — we unfold! 

Starry heaven ! constellations, 

Where in evanescent glaze — through the haze — 

Golden meteors shoot their train. 

In a rainbow gleaming light — shimm'ring bright! 



STARLIGHT. 229 

Maid of visions ever dreaming, 
In romantic spirit dreams, these mild beams ; 
Diamond-like thy starry eyes, 
Wells and pools, so deep and clear, — mine, my 
dear ! 

Beauteous wooer of the evening, 
Place thy hand within my own, here alone ; 
Breathe me sweets I love to hear. 
Charming anecdotes of love, gentle dove ! 

Echoing laughter, softest breathing. 

From the bosom sweet with sighs, that I prize ; 

In this gentle evening dream. 

Tell me where thou hast, and when, lovelier been ? 

Twilight falling on my Beauty, 

Fairest of all princesses, she leans on me, 

Archly casts a loving glance : — 

Pliant cheek, of ruddy grace, 'gainst my face ! 

Oh ! elysian glory, sweetest 

Ever dreamt or pondered o'er : evermore 

Let her be my angel bride, 

Leaning gently on my arm, with sweet charm ! 





MOONLIGHT. 

FAIRY moonbeams ! soft and mellow, 
Tints of silent orfrays falling, 
And my darling's auburn tresses 
Dancing in the silken sprays ! 

Shroud us, anadems of raylets. 
Fold us in thy bosom's halo, 
Trinkling sweets of even's blessing, 
Softest, fleecy, golden rays ! 

Aye, bedight my Beauty's mantle 
With thy lustrous gleams of heaven ; 
Shine upon her brow, sweet moonlight. 
Gently kiss her by my side ! 

Fairy moonbeams ! saintly shimmer 
On my Peri's silken lashes ; 
In her eyes of meekness tender 
Let thy glistering whisper glide ! 

Through the lattice-form'd espalier, 
Peeping shreds of smiling showers 
Lay their opalescent fingers 
On the bosom ling'ring near ! 

230 



G OLDEN CL O UD OF IMA GER Y. 2 3 I 

Ye adorning halo, shining, 
Still extilling through these leaflets 
Sweets that mingle with these secrets, 
That I tell to some one dear ! 

Follow with thy graceful mantle, 
Souls uniting — lives emerging, 
Into life that should be holy, 
Ending with a golden year ! 



GOLDEN CLOUD OF IMAGERY. 

AERIAL clouds of ivory mould, 
With changing colonnades of gold, 
And fleecy, sunlit anadems, 
And chaplets of the brightest gems. 
On an seolian car ye ride. 
Above the murmurs of the tide ! 

Itinerant in deep-blue skies, 

O'er every land, through Paradise ; 

Building anon palatial domes, 

Where fairy spirits make their homes ! 

Transforming thee to oval rolls. 

On which they spread their poet scrolls ! 

They make moniliforms of thee. 
And shrouds of silken tapestry ; 



232 THE BARK OF LIFE. 

And rideaus where they seem to lie, 
While passing through the azure sky : 
These spirit-forms of imagery ! 
The cherubims we cannot see ! 

Along the horizon ye blow, 
In gilded fringe, ye cloud of snow ! 
On genial winds seem to indite 
Elysian songs, of spheres so bright. 
That I would love to make my home, 
Forevermore within thy dome ! 

THE BARK OF LIFE. 

I'M pulling hard at the oars, Nanette, 
But the waves are dashing high ! 
I 'm rowing against the billows, darling, 
'Neath frowns of an angry sky ! 

I see a strand in the east, Nanette, 
But it's in the distance yet ! 

I think it 's growing brighter, ever, 
In the sunlight not yet set ! 

I 'm making for the current, my darling. 
Which appears to bear that way ! 

Encourage me by smiling, sweetness. 
While I battle 'gainst the spray ! 



A CASKET. 233 

Wipe my brow, 't is damp with sweat, Nanette, 

For I can't let go my oar! 
Take the glass and look again, loved one, 

Tell me if you see the shore ! 

Look beyond the mountainous wave, my beauty. 

Just over this gathering foam, 
Shut out almost by breakers rising. 

And there you will see our home ! 

" At last we 've reach'd the current, Nanette, 
And I see the tempting strand ! " — 

But the voice of Death gave answer to them. 
And the lost ones could not land ! 

'Tis thus in The Bark of Life, — the loved ones 

Are hopeful even unto death, 
And the voice that cheers a lover — cheers him 

'Till the waves choke out their breath ! 



A CASKET. 

LET me hold this jacinth casket. 
And engrail its form with gold: 
Let me place an em'rald in its 

Jewelled clasp, and there enfold 
Secret wishes for the spirit 

Who shall lift the weird lid : 
Benedictions quaint and cryptic 
Will be in this casket hid. 



234 ^^^ HAUNTED DWELLING. 

Lines to friendship's ling'ring portrait, 

Wrapped around with silvered leaf, 
Where I 've writ a living token 

Of our joys, but none of grief! 
Lines indelible, with meaning — 

Proem to some poem laid — 
Ye shall read within the future, 

Sitting in some balmy shade ! 

Let me place a gem pellucid 

In this casket's fairy fold ; 
Let it shine there opalescent — 

Beautiful — and ne'er grow old ! 
In thy gently-heaving bosom. 

Gem of love, oh, let it be ; 
Oft resplendent with a gloria 

That my breast reflects to thee ! 



THE HAUNTED DWELLING. 

IN this mystic dwelling wanders, 
In the form of air — going here and there ! — 
Something ominous, portending 

Hangs in gloom around the stair ; 
In a shroud of drear meandering 

Thro' the gloomy room — in the hideous gloom ! 
Spirits dread as if from Hades, 
Telling of some ancient doom! 



THE HAUNTED DWELLING. 235 

Listen ! hist ! some cursing evil 

At the doorway taps ! Hist ! again it raps ! 
Airy spirit, let me see thee, 

While I hear thy mystic taps ! 
Mystery in sables shrouded 

In these creaking halls — in these ancient stalls ! 
Cursed spirit, or still sainted. 

Why thus troubled in these walls ? 

Evil haunt ! dread habitation — 

Spirits of unrest — troubled and unblest, — 
Coming from a land of shadows. 

Crowns of darkness on thy crest. 
Troubled spirit ! stop and tell me 

Of undying strife, of this second life; 
What can ease this restless being, 

The infernal evil rife ! 

Soul that's dead — yet the undying! 

From the mortal dead — yet immortal head! 
Living in these dreary chambers. 

Even after life has sped ! 
Troubled spirit, now pass over 

To the dismal tomb ! leave this worldly gloom ; 
For this life is but a shadow, 

Breeding sins for days of doom ! 




A DIRGE. 

LOW sighs the steahng zephyrs — low breaths 
of air, 
And whisp'ring through the sylvan boughs so 

bleak and bare ; 
Soft lisps, from tongues most speechless, fall on 

the breeze ; 
Then rising like a cloudy vapor through the trees ! 

Low, plaintive murmurs falling, like dirges drear, 
Or some one moaning with the shrivelled leaflets 

near! 
Or funereal marches passing, the dim streets tread. 
Decked with the sable crape, hung round the dear 

one's head ! 



The sad, low dirge, like midnight, grows gloomier 

still ; 
In melancholy murmurs it winds around the hill. 
Amongst the sad, the wailing, of wringing hands ; 
With sobs they utter sentences of' broken bands! 

■ 236 



REMEMBERED. 237 

Who has not heard these minstrels, of fainter 

breath, 
That whisper in these haunted ears around a death ! 
Who has not known their story, and hath not 

sighed, 
And joined their spirits, waihng for the wreck 

that died ? 

Thus, in funereal marches, comes on the train. 
Of friends inspiring dirges with a drear again ; 
Each wheel that grates the paving, each tramp of 

steed. 
Sings departed spirits from this cold world of need! 

We know that one day, listless, sad, and frail, 
Our deathly form will stir these wailings, upon the 

gale, 
Our loves, that sighed' for others, will turn to weep 
While following the dirge unto our lasting sleep ! 



REMEMBERED. 

I HAVE a home in the land of flowers, 
A beautiful, bowery grove ; 
Will you go, fair one, where pleasure pours, 
For thee the voice of love ! 

Gardens are in that glorious vast. 

Where oranges wildly grow ; 
Will you go, fair one, and take repast, 

Where cold winds never blow ! 



238 CONSTELLA TION OF BE A UTIES. 

• My ponies are fleet, and bright, a'nd gay, 
And are up in the breezy morn ; 
Come and hie with me, loved one, away, 
My carriage to adorn ! 

My mansion is beautiful, grand, and tall. 

And my deer is in the brake ; 
My vines are growing along the wall 

That borders the silvery lake ! 

Go with me and feed my snowy swan. 
And my deer that roams in the park. 

The pony that races upon the lawn, 
And my beautiful morning lark ! 

These, these I will give to the one that goes 
To the land of love, from a world of mart ; 

She will feed my creatures, and water my rose. 
And cherish a dying heart ! 



R 



CONSTELLATION OF BEAUTIES. 

ADIANT /aces, beaming mildly, — liquid, 
laughing eyes; 
Ruby lips and cheeks all roseate. 
Luscious bosoms, sweet with sighs! 



Snowy brows and locks all golden, — locks of 
auburn hue; 
Jetty tresses, black as midnight, 
Tender eyes of deepest blue ! 



CONSTELLATION OF BEAUTIES. 239 

Coal-black eyes, those welling fountains, — eyes of 
silver gray ; 
Hazel eyes, and cheeks of beauty, 
Pearly teeth and music gay ! 

Snowy arms, with wristlets golden, — arms of 
marble mould ; 
Hands of jewels, silken fingers, 
Arms as soft as ermine fold ! 

Bosoms mild, and bosoms luscious, — breasts where 
diamonds glow ; 
Necks like swans, so white and noble, 
Gems of love on breasts of snow ! 

Pallid cheeks, and cheeks more rosy, — lips like 
cherry red ; 
Slender forms, and rounded figure, 
Graceful dance, and jewell'd head ! 

Prattling telltales, loved and silent, — echoes 
young and sweet; 
Blushing damsels, blooming maidens, 
Tripping with elastic feet ! 

All are beauties bright with splendor — all are 
forms to bless ; 
All have pouting lips of kisses, 
Blooming for the joys we press ! 




STRANDS OF PEARLS. 

QUAINT canticle of jingling pearls, 
We see thy florid cords that ring ; 
Whose coalescing, silver thread. 
Like webs in sunshine glistening! 

These silver cords are the decades 
On which we string bright memories ; 

And flocculent their pearls are seen. 
Like hives of golden honey-bees ! 

These web-like strands, of silver hue, 
Are swinging down from age to age ; 

And pearls of various shades appear. 
Like words emblazed on ivory page ! 



Metallic hues on silent webs, 

Or those that sing through seasons gone, 
Are glowing beautifully young: — 

Within our dreams they sweetly dawn ! 

240 



PASSING CASTLES. 24 1 

These hues are the reflections bright 
From memories of glories past ; 

And gladsome glows that ancient blaze, 
Which on this present hour is cast ! 

These shining pearls we string to-day 

Upon the silver cord of time ; 
Of various hues they cluster there, 

Wove in a canto sweet in rhyme ! 

Quaint canticle of jewels bright, 

All florulent with life to-day ; 
On living cords, with lights ablaze. 

Thy beauties beam with radiant ray ! 



PASSING CASTLES. 

CASTLES, like clouds on shifting breezes, 
Decking the distant realms of air ! 
Glowing like lights o'er earth and ocean, 

Beautiful hues of golden glare ! 
Vapors that pass away forever, 

Others arise within their stead ; 
Meteor-like, all these must perish 
Over the builder's aching head ! 
21 o 



242 PASSING CASTLES. 

Beautiful dreams of fields of rubies, 

Diamonds, and pearls along the shore. 
Waiting for hands like thine to gather, 

Waiting for thee forevermore ! 
Dreamer ye be, and durst not waken ! 

Waking, ye find a barren manse ! 
Dreaming, ye see their disks all glisten ! 

Waking, ye find a drear expanse ! 

Castles like clouds forever passing, 

Rearing their tomes into the sky 1 
Ivory in hulk, with fixtures marble, 

Glories that build, rebuild, then die ! 
Dreamer in days, behold their glory 

Shining with splendor unsurpassed ! 
Waking, ye look upon this vision, 

Leaving a speckless sky at last ! 

Castles like clouds are reappearing, 

Building their vapory mists in air, — 
Beautiful domes and snowy mountains, 

Fountains of gold and jewels rare ! 
Dreamer of dreams, 't is but a vision, 

Promises bright are seldom thine ! 
Waken, and see that life is real — 

Tinsels of wrecks will often shine ! 




EARLY FROSTS. 

YE frosts of silver sindon, spread 
With crystals of young beams, 
Where nature lifts her weeping head, 

And smiling morn sends golden gleams, 
Whose raylet-fingers soft unfold, 
From fading flowers, thy robe of jewels cold! 

From sylvan browse of tender limbs. 
By mountain paths, or lanes in dales ; 

Where summer birds have sung their hymns. 
Where wildwood swine have made their trails, 

The rosy fingers of the morn 

Unfold thy robes from trees, sad and forlorn ! 

From gardens beautiful with bowers 

And beds of sweet perfume, 
Soft fingers of these raylet-showers 

Lift from this dying bloom 
Thy silver-tinted robe, that lies 
Like weights that fell from sorrows in the skies ! 

243 



244 STREAM OF TIME. 

The morning light falls beautiful 

O'er desolate heads and bosoms blest, 

And from the heart those clouds o'er all 
Blot out by light — and, with the rest, 

Behold the wound this s^ness gave ! — 

'Tis thus we weep and follow to the grave! 



STREAM OF TIME. 

DAYS of pleasure passing over 
Seasons filled with gems, renown, 
Borne upon life's ceaseless river, 
On the billowing waves move down ! 

Golden moments, swiftly flitting. 
Germs that bud and bloom to life, 

Fall like useless, blighted cinders. 
On that mighty stream of strife ! 

Seasons old and decades recent. 

Centuries of time amassed. 
Shake their monuments to glory 

In this moving stream at last! 

King and queen, enthroned in 'minions, 
Of all wealth this life displays, 

Pass away upon its bosom, 
Lost unto the spirit-gaze ! 



STREAM OF TIME. 24$ 

Prince and princess, young in beauty, 
Sweetened with the glow of time: 

Hand in hand, or lost and wand'ring 
Float away to other clime ! 

Beauteous forms and angel faces, 
Hearts of faith and hearts untrue, 

Bloom a little season only, 

Then they bid the world adieu ! 



Aged forms and prophets feeble 
Step upon the water's brink, 

And are borne away forever, 
Leaving back life's broken link ! 

Men of wealth, men of misfortune. 
Men of state, and youths of pride, 

Mingle in this vast procession, 

Who are sweeping down the tide ! 

Looks of anguish backward casting 
On the flowers from life, that fall 

Like dead leaves upon the surges, 
Sweep around some ancient wall ! 

Down by gardens ever blooming, 
And where wintry peaks arrear, 



246 SEND LOVE'S MESSAGE. 

Barren wastes of broke limbs striking 
'Gainst the forms that move so near. 

Down by fields of golden harvest, 
Where a Reaper, name of Death, 

Hand of Time, that holds the sickle, 
Clipping out our latest breath ! 

Like faint shadows, ever falling 
Dimly on the moving wave, 

Lives of human forms drop over. 
And are borne unto the iirave ! 



SEND LOVE'S MESSAGE. 

OH ! send me a message of love ; 
Oh ! send it with kisses to me ; 
I 've sent mine, on wings like the dove, — 
Undying devotion to thee ! 

Oh ! send me a message by noon ; 

Oh ! send it with wishes most kind ; 
I fear I have sent mine too soon, 

But Cupid has always been blind ! 

Oh ! send me a message by night. 

How can I be waiting so long 
For ecstasy's deepest delight ? 

I fear that there 's something gone wrong 



SEND LOVE'S MESSAGE. 247 

Oh ! send me a message by morn ; 

" Devotedly thine," say to me, 
And I will awake and adorn 

My beauty, and only for thee i 

Oh! send' me love's message, my dear, 

And savor with kisses of pride, 
And think of the soul living near, 

That offers a virtuous bride ! 

Oh ! send me a message, and sweet 
I 'm writing my answer, most, now ; 

I think I am taking my seat. 
To scribble the often-told vow ! 

Oh ! send me a message, true heart ; 

I 'm waiting in patience to hear — 
To know if my suitor thou art. 

Or if you have found one more dear ! 

I 'm humming thy favorite hymn. 
And deem thou art singing to me : 

The future will not seem so dim, 
If I have a token from thee ! 

I wonder if ail of mankind 

Are happy as I, when I read 
The verses when underlined 

With — " Love, it is thy smiles I need!" 



248 ASPIRA TION. 

Then send me a message, my dear ; 

Oh ! send me a message by noon ; 
Just think, I am shedding a tear, 

For fear I have sent mine too soon ! 

Then send me a message, sweet one ; 

Oh ! send me a message by night ; 
I '11 wait till the latest lights dawn. 

To look for these words of delight ! 

Then send me a message, my love ; 

Oh ! send me a message by morn ; 
Oh ! send it on wings like the dove. 

Or I am distressed and forlorn ! 

Oh ! send me a message, loved heart ; 

I 'm dreaming how sweet it shall be ; 
Oh ! send it on wings like the dart 

From Cupid I sent forth to thee ! 



ASPIRATION. 

WAKENING apparition, coming 
In the dark hours of the night ; 
Breeding dreams of fame in slumbers ; 

Forming visions of delight! 
Airy tempter, with the moonbeam. 

And with starlight's shifting sprays, 
Steal thy mystic fingers, wakening 
Dreamers with thy gems of rays ! 



ASPIRA TION. 249 

When the lampHght is extinguished, 

And cold embers on the hearth ; 
And dead coals, once blazing brightly, 

Give no sparks of beauty birth ! 
When no footstep is heard falling 

Through the daytime beaten halls, 
And no echoes of sweet laughter 

Steal from out the dingy walls ! 
Comes a motive-aspiration, 

From a germ within the mind ; 
Breeds a tempter to awake us. 

That we leave the world behind ! 
And the open volumes, lying 

Where the moonbeams' fingers go ; 
For that ancient eye of Heaven, 

To retrace the lines that flow, 
Calls us from our bed of pleasure. 

To excel that we enthrone ! 
In the heaven another glory, 

That may send, when we are gone, 
Rays of hope, and streams of courage, 

To the sleepers' troubled heads, 
Wakening up, and lifting ever, 

Youths to fame from rosy beds ! 




DREAMING BEAUTY! 

DREAMING beauty — gentle fairy — 
Castles in thy dreams ! 
Bird of heaven — sweetly sleeping — 

Locks of golden beams ! 
Let me kiss and kindly waken, 

Beauty of my dreams ! 
Dreaming beauty — seraph of my dreams ! 

Chorus. 

Dreaming beauty — child of heaven — 

Jewel of my dreams ! 
Child of glory — gently sighing, 

Lips where beauty teems ' 
Let me kiss and kindly waken, 

Beauty of my dreams ! 
Angel beauty — Peri of my dreams ! 

Chorus. 

Dreaming beauty — wake and tell me 

Blessings of thy dreams ! 
Ere I kiss thee, gently parting 

Locks of golden beams ; 

250 



JESSIE LEE. 251 

Or I kiss and kindly waken, 

Beauty of my dreams ! 
Angel beauty — fairy of my dreams ! 

Chorus. 

Dreaming beauty, form'd of heaven, 

Castles in thy dreams ! 
Bird of flowers, shores all golden. 

Land of silver gleams — 
Let me kiss and kindly waken, 

Beauty of my dreams ! 
Dreaming beauty — rosebud of my dreams! 

Chorus. — Sainted houri ! child of vision ! 
Wanderer in dreams ! 
I would kiss and kindly waken 
Beauty of my dreams ! 



o 



JESSIE LEE. 

H ! I weep in my sleep, as I dream of the day 
When the rose of my heart with its bloom 
died away ! 

Oh ! I stand with my hand on her soft marble 

brow, 
And I feel the damp chill on her cold forehead now ! 

But in bloom o'er the tomb lies a white, rosy wreath, 
With the soft weeping moss lightly bedded beneath. 



252 JESSIE LEE. 

Light awave o'er the grave stand the evergreen 

trees, 
Singing meanings of love to the sweet- sighing 

breeze ! 

Oh ! I weep in my sleep, when I dream evermore, 
For the sweet, sunny hours of my bright days are 
o'er ! 

In the night's starry light, when we stood by the sea, 
Oh ! I think of the breast that I press'd unto me ! 

Oh ! I stand on the strand by her spirit of yore. 
And methinks I am vowing to love evermore ! 

Oh ! I weep in my sleep, as I wander away 
Through the wold of the past to the sad-parting 
day ! 

But she 's lain on the plain, 'neath the cedars awave 
O'er the moss-covered knoll of her little lone grave ! 

And, alas ! I will pass down the vale in the tide, 
Where my darling 's at rest — I will sleep by her 
side ! 

So adieu unto you who are weeping for me ; 
I am going to sleep by my sweet Jessie Lee. 





AMONG THE STARS. 

A SERAPH among the stars they say! 
I 'm singing ethereal praise ; 
I wander along the golden way, 
And weave my evening lays ! 

A traveller among the stars I go, 
Still breathing the heavenly air ; 

I 'm flying along the silvery glow, 
And do my dreaming there! 

I wander among the stars, and sing 

To the raylet's path alone ! 
My spirit upon the breeze I fling, 

And weave my evening moan ! 

An image among the stars I soar. 
While fanning the silken beams : 

A spirit I wing forevermore, 
And weave my angel dreams ! 



22 



253 




AUTUMN WINDS. 

AUTUMNAL winds are sighing 
O'er crisping field, 
Of gentle verdure dying, 
And broken pastures lying, 
Waiting their snowy shield ! 

Autumnal winds are blowing 

Through sylvan vales, 
Where fallen leaves are flowing 
Where hurried kine are lowinsf, 

All heedless of the gales ! 



VOICES IN THE NIGHT. 

IN this grim night of drear, 
A voice I hear ! 
It be lugubrious sound, 
Borne in the breeze around ; 
A spirit alar-born ; 
A spirit sadly lorn ! 



254 



VOICES IN THE NIGHT. 

Its voice is like the knell 
Of groaning, distant bell, 

O'er waving lea ! 

What can this minstrel be, 
That haunts the shaded dell, 
With ominous sounds that dwell 

Upon the sea ? 
Deep-toned the sound comes near; 
Alas ! what moan ye hear ! 
Alas ! what sighs severe 

Are whispering loud 
Those untaught words, that mean 
But names of solemn scene. 
Where sorrows intervene, 
Cloaked with an umber shroud ! 

In this dark night of death, 
We catch our troubled breath ! 
With silence, slow and calm. 
We press our aching palm 

Upon our breast ! 
To hush its erring tone; 
Deep sighs we dare not own : 
Oh ! blackest, weird wail ! 
Oh ! trebly troubled gale ! 
Oh ! spirit of the vale ! 

Where is thy rest ? 



•:>^ 



256 VOICES IN THE NIGHT. 

Oh ! haunting voice of night ! 
Dark-wand'ring sprite, 
Within the leaves, 
'Round harvest sheaves, 
In stubble plain, 
Thy sounds of pain 
Arise againj 

Thou haunting spell of night ! 
When stars are less with light, 
Above the clouds of drear, 
And vainly peer, — 
Thy moan I hear ! 
Funereal marches seem 
These mourners in a dream ; 
Some ever echoing knoll ! 
Some ever dreary dole ! 
That strikes into the soul ! 



Oh ! voice of night ! 

This loneness ye bedight 

With spells of dearth, 

In realms of earth ! 

In gloomy caves, 

O'er ocean waves. 

Thy trembling tones roll on, — 

Words that are never gone. 

Sounds that are heard till dawn 



VOICES IN THE NIGHT. 257 

In this grim, lonely night, 

Naught hngers on the sight : 

But a portentous sound 

Sweeps o'er the ground, 

And wings its deathly singing all around ! 

Wailing voice of glyn, 

In grottoes bleak, 

O'er rideaus meek, 
Through caverns' din. 
Thy groans and murmuring, 
Where vines and tendrils swing! — 
Black bats of night, 
In dark delight, 
Flap with thy spell 
Sounds like grim bell. 
Through leaves of trees 
Torn by the breeze, 
Lashed by the seas. 
Crushed with disease, — 
A shred of distant sound. 
That ceases echoing round ! 

Another voice 

Seems to rejoice 

In blackest mystery, 

Along the moaning sea ! 

In mollusk shells 

Sighs like farewells, 

J2* R 



258 VOICES IN THE NIGHT. 

Where sob the waves 

O'er watery graves ! 

And the caressing reeds 

And leaf-stripped weeds 

Sing to the night 

Their songs of magic blight ! 

The wind's hoarse moan 

Round walls of stone, — 

Its piercing cries, 

Its yells, its sighs, — 

It lives and dies, 

And seems immortal still ! 

Goes up the hill, 

Where ominous fowls 

And moping owls 

Scream with the mighty blast ! 

Then all is hushed at last! 

The weird calls of night, 

E'en in starry light, 

And when the moon is bright, 

Ye hear ! ye hear ! 

Both far and near. 

Sounds like tread of bier 

On distant stone, 

Going alone ! 

The hoarse dogs bay, 

The horses neigh. 



THE PR OP HE T MONITOR. 259 

The dripping eves, 

Some shrivelled leaves, 
Torn locks of hay ! 

Some willows weeping, 

Some dreamer sleeping ! 

The clarion crow, 

Then horns that blow ! 
And waken up the souls to-day, 
To chase these desp'rate sounds of night away ! 



THE PROPHET MONITOR. 

A PROPHET born, a monitor, 
A lonely, wand'ring, aged form, 
Who wears the scars of many a war ! 
Who bared his breast in many a storm ; 
Goes slowly moving through the drear. 
Where hoary rocks and mossy hills arrear ! 

His joys are past ! his sun retreats, 

And leaves its shadow o'er the lea. 
Where now the wild lamb lowly bleats ! 
And where the hawk screams o'er the sea 
Perhaps his vision wanders back, 
And then 't is lost amid a ruin track ! 



26o THE PROPHET MONITOR. 

His boyhood days come in his sleep, 
To haunt his sad, belabored head ! 
He sees his first love come and weep, 
Despairing o'er his humble bed ; 
And dreams she plants a soft kiss there 
Upon his brow, and smoothes his hoary hair ! 

Ah! 'tis the vigil of the aged! 

It is the angel that renews 
Those happy times which once engaged 
That buoyant heart with things that use 
To bid him sing, and dance, and pray : 
But, ah I that happy hour has passed away ! 

He wakens, and beholds the sun 
Beginning in the east to shine ; 
He sees another day begun, 
But not a friend can he divine; 
Yet from his humble couch he sees 
The gentle vale, ensconced with lowering trees ! 

A prophet born, whose heritage 

Is with the wild beasts of the field : 
A prophet born, he lives a sage ; 
He cannot die, he cannot yield, 
But tramps along the dingy way. 
In morning light, and in the gloomy day ! 



THE PROPHET MONITOR. 26 1 

He had bright days — but they are past — 

Of which he recked but little then ; 
His wintry days have come at last ! 
He sings his childish songs again : 
And mellows from the touch of pride, 
With all his built-up, castling tomes denied ! 

His children do not sing to him ; 

His grandchild sits not on his knee, 
Nor leads him when his eyes are dim ; 
Or tell him what loved things they see 
Growing upon the verdant green, 
Nor ask, with sighs, what might such beauty mean ! 

His Gellart lies beneath the tree, 

In shallow tomb — there is no verse, 
Nor date, nor line of memory 

Left, that the wond'ring might rehearse, 
Or name when he gave up the chase : 
The faithful dog that run his earthly race ! 

The shrivelled leaves dance on the breeze. 

The acorn lies within the grass, 
The hoar-frost twinkles on the trees. 
Sighing of wintry age, — alas! 
As do the limbs with 'cicles glow, 
Beyond the vale, where lies the drifted snow ! 



262 THE PR OPHE T MONITOR. 

Ethereal thought, aerial whisperings, 

Which bid us speak, which bid us dream, 
Full conscious of the drear it brings, — 
' After we drink their glazen beam. 
Fall weighty on the sage's breast. 
And stir those elements, nor let him rest ! 

Ethereal smiles, such as the day- 
Might spray at noontime on this head, 
Have wasted on his hairs of gray. 
Until his golden hours were dead: 
E'en when he found his hopes were gone 
He would not yield, but still kept tottering on ! 

The whirring of the wild field-bird, 

The rustling of the rivulet, 
The condor's hollow scream he heard, 
Have filled his ears, nor charm them yet, 
As once when he was young as they, — 
For what is that to one so lone and gray ? 

Behold the tree ! it is his kind ! 

Behold the cave ! it is his kin ! 
He soon shall leave them all behind. 
And let the dark wave drink him in ! 
And let the carrion moan his death. 
And weep for joy because he ceased his breath ! 



THE PROPHET MONITOR. 263 

The dark waves roll before his gaze ! 
The deep sea murmurs at his feet ! 
The raylets o'er the waters blaze, 
And seem this aged soul to greet ! 
The frail bark leans upon the strand ; 
Upon the chain he lays his wrinkled hand ! 

The pearly sands glow to his eye, 
The orange blooms, the rose is fair : 

How can he leave this earth to die. 
O'er dark and trackless waves to dare, 

When beauty bids him linger yet. 

And taste the sweets, such joys as none forget ? 

Again he looks, again he sighs ! 

He cannot stay, his day is done : 
He leaves behind what youth would prize : 

His sense is quelled : his nerve is won! 
The deep sea bows beneath his oar. 
And he departs the earth forevermore ! 

Lone hoots the owl, lone sigh the trees ! 

And lone the voice of mariner 
Dieth upon the booming breeze : 

And so his image, like a star. 
Hides in the folds of brighter light : 
So hides this shadow in the gloom of night ! . 



264 SOUNDS EL YSIAN. 

The waves have washed his trace away ; 

The snow has melted 'neath his track ! 
Another vine hangs o'er the sway ; 

The form of other shadows black 
The place the hermit used to trod, 
But left the earth — went moaning to his God ! 

And, still in military reign, 

The sylvan of this hermitage 
Bows to the sea — it rocks amain, 

And shakes from off its doomy page 
The history of death and strife : 
And still ye think beyond it there is life ! 



SOUNDS ELYSIAN. 

CHORDS of jewel tones, 
Sending from thy mystic thrones 
Songs of thrilling sound ; 
Heavenly music floating round. 
With euphonious swells, 
Ring like golden bells ! 
Keys of ivory, show'ring crystal shells, 
Threads of tender ode. 
Murmuring to their God 
Thy cherubic music, made 
By celestial aid : 



SOUNDS ELYSIAN. 265 

Sweetest, deep delight, 
Souls these songs indite, 
Spirits that are beautiful and bright, 
This elysian dream, 
Fill'd with palinodes, that stream 
Through our very souls ! 
Echo softly rolls.! 
Lift us, with thy spell. 
Where the angels dwell. 
O'er thy chariot-wheel. 
Let us ever feel 

Oft thy weird spells and charms. 
By these quaint alarms, 
Folded in some Beauty's snowy arms ! 
Bear us. Fairy bright, 
On thy wings of light. 
Ringing thy sweet strains, 
'Round, like loving chains ! 
Keys of ivory mould 
Utter sounds of gold ; 
Chords of quaintest sighs, 
Bear us to the skies, 
On thy wings, like bird of Paradise ! 
Keys of plaintive moans. 
Chords of living tones. 
Tingling voice thy clanging trumpet owns ! 
Minstrel fingers fair. 
Pearls that strike thee there, 
23 



266 SOUNDS ELYSIAN. 

Ye mellifluous flow ! 

From these founts of snow, 

Bright the mystic spell 

Weaves within thy shell 

Whispers mildly sweet ! 

Ye repeat — repeat ! 

Cast thy seeming garlands at our feet ! 

Voice angelic ! — ye 

Laugh with music glee ! 

Notes of mighty life, 

With their splendor rife, 

Breathing ling'ring peals. 

Quaintest word, that steals 

In our bosoms blest. 

With these glories press'd. 

From the rosy lips that love us best, 

Changing sounds uprear 

To us, far and near. 

Bred for poet ear ; 

Heavenly ! heavenly ! flow ! — 

Hear these murmurs go 

From the wires of life. 

Steeped in loving strife ; 

Chains of silver threads 

Ringing round our heads, — 

Even to the skies 

Bear us, with our prize. 

On thy wings, like bird of Paradise ! 




SABLE HEARSE. 

THE sable hearse goes slowly moving on, 
The knolling bell rings to the loved one 
gone — 
Gone to the realms where millions have before — 
To sleep these ages, silent evermore ! 

The sable hearse, in doleful tread, shall pass 
Long after it has borne us home, alas ! 
With friends that o'er us in such season wept; 
Friends that through life unto the grave we kept ! 

The dingy wheels by yonder hill shall wind, 
For men of fame, for men of weaker mind 
After the moss unletters our fair tomb, 
And roving reeds hide flowers that there should 
bloom ! 

And when these children gather from afar, 
To build unto their own a sepulchre. 
Perchance they '11 place them, 'neath the ebon sky. 
Beside the tomb where may our ashes lie ! 

267 



268 SABLE HEARSE. 

They will not weep for such a clay-cold head, 
Who shall sleep by the freshly lain and dead, 
But rather mourn for one, so fresh and fair, 
Who came to take a resting with us there ! 

The snowy breast, the pearly hands shall be 
Folded in sleep for all eternity ; 
The rosy cheek, the bright and sparkling eye, 
Forget their glow, and let their beauty die ! 

The sable hearse hath borne all these away ; 
The grave, the powerful, the light, the gay; 
And yet the bell, in solemn peals, shall toll 
The saddened hour of a departing soul ! 

By yonder vault a gentle mother sleeps. 
And by the 'stead a lowly willow weeps ; 
And when the evening gathers o'er the Rhone, 
They weep for her, for she is left alone ! 

And year by year the loving, fair, and brave 
Gather around her, in a new-made grave ; 
We hark unto the voices of the clod, 
As if some one goes moaning to their God ! 

Thus shall they gather, from the east and west. 
To sleep by those in life they loved the best ; 
Thus shall they fall, as leaflets have before ; 
The sable hearse shall bring them back no more. 




'5 



LADIES' TOILET. 

MYSELF I will bedight 
With jewels mildly sweet 
And diamonds blazing bright: 

For the one of all I love to meet 
Is coming to me to-night ! 

With coronets of flowers, 

With gold threads intertwined, 

Perfumery from the bowers, — 

For the one, the noblest of mankind, 

Sweet blessings in evening hours ! 

A princess I would be, 

A cherub saintly sweet. 
To him ideal to see : — 

Aye ! the one of all I love to meet 
Is coming to-night to me! 

I will bedight my breast 

With chains of purest link,. 
Where oft his head shall rest, 

And his eyes of love will sweetly drink 
Views of the one who loves him best ! 
23 * 269 



270 ODE TO AN UNKNOWN TONGUE. 

My brow I will bedight 

With wreaths that bud and bloom, 
Full of a rosy light, 

And full of such very sweet perfume, 
For a happy lord, to-night ! 



ODE TO AN UNKNOWN TONGUE. 

BENEATH this shade I lay me down 
To dream of worldly things, — renown ! 
I hear a maiden's gentle tone 
Sweeping along the horizon ! 
Perhaps it is no maiden's tongue 
That sings the song, so sweetly sung : 
That tune, I know, it is of old; 
Its price is worth Golconda's gold ! 
But then the tongue is strange to me. 
And though sweet music may it be, 
It is an angel's voice, I know. 
That makes the notes so gently flow. 
And bids my soul think and rejoice 
That it 's an angel's unknown voice ! 

Beneath this bended elm I lie, 
And gaze into the crystal sky. 
And watch the hawk upon the wing 
(But still I hear that angel sing) : 
I close my eyes, and think I see 
Myriads of angels around me. 



ODE TO AN UNKNOWN TONGUE. 



271 



Who gather roses and make wreaths 
For every mortal soul that breathes ! 
Methinks they seem so happy, too, 
With wings of every shade and hue, 
And many of them, fair and young, 
Aid in that song, which still is sung ! 
Methinks the world a garden stands, 
With verdure fresh upon all hands, 
Where hollies bend and sunflowers wave : 
Why can mankind e'er be a slave ? 
•Methinks that music's glorious flow 
E'en to yon setting sun must go — 
To cheer the coming evening star, 
That rolls its fair, entrancing car 
From distant land unto the view : 
Alas ! it seems so happy, too ! 

The paly moon is in the sky ; 
The silvery clouds must pass it by, 
Rolling unto the east afar 
Their feathery hulk, their snowy car ! 
Methinks that be the angels' home- 
That glorious cloud, that built-up tcme ! 
Methinks I see them gather there, 
The beautiful, the pure, the fair. 
And string their harps to heavenly tone ! 
I hear them sing their songs alone, 
And many times I think I be 
Borne onward to eternity, 



272 ODE TO AN UNKNOWN TONGUE. 

And lost amid the holy host ! 
And think when I am happy most, 
When 'round the holy light I stand, 
I am a creature of the band ! 

A hundred times I close my eyes ; 
As many times I see the skies 
As clear and beautiful with peace : 
(Let not that heavenly music cease ! ) 
For in the vision still there flies 
The seraphs of the famed and wise, 
Going and coming every way, 
The only lights of night and day ! 
With horns of plenty in each hand, 
Which holds for age the golden wand 
To bear him to the land of bliss 
By music much compared to this ! 
Methinks I see them going now, 
By yonder hillock's rolling brow. 
To meet that band from out the sky. 
Ah, bliss ! their music ne'er can die ! 
Methinks their parent's name is love. 
Who has his home in realms above, 
Whose chariot glows with diamond fire 
In realms beyond us, higher and higher ! 

The maple waves its yellow leaves, 
..The harvest hangs its golden sheaves, 
And from the corn the wild bloom flies ! 
All, all are sinfrinc to the skies. 



ODE TO AN UNKNOWN TONGUE. 2/3 

And make a music not amiss, 
But 't is no tone compared to this ! 
The wind is whispering in the weed, 
Along the paths which winding lead 
In bowers of peace and verdancy ; 
But then its notes are not as free 
As that sweet voice upon the air, 
Methinks should haunt me everywhere ! 
The bird carols among the trees. 
And flaps its wings amid the breeze ; 
It sings its sweetest to me now, 
Just on yon little bended bough ; 
But then I 'd rather it were still, 
For sweeter from that distant hill 
The angel voice attends to pour : — 
Ah ! would it ring forevermore ! 

The katydid is singing, too, 
And tries me from this voice to woo ; 
But then its tone has grown so old, 
I frown upon it, calm and cold, 
And hope that it will hold its peace. 
At least until this voice shall cease ! 
And when this mountain strain is o'er. 
Let worlds of songsters sing the more ! 
For all the world will quiet be 
From that which was such charm to me ! 
And when the evening cometh on, 
And rolls its darkness o'er the lawn, 
s 



274 ODE TO AN UNKNOWN TONGUE. 

And far from here, abed I lie, 

In dreams this music cannot die, 

For it has such quaint melody, 

So sweet and strong, so hght and free. 

The moon is setting in the west, 
Behind yon shaggy hillock's crest, 
And sends its peeping moonbeams o'er 
The crystal lake, from shore to shore. 
Where frogs begin to praise the night : 
I wish their muse would hush her might, 
For still the peri, from yon mound, 
Awakes the busy air around 
With song, as sweet with melody 
As e'er such song to man could be ! 
From yonder cot doth now begin 
The strains of some touch'd violin ; 
They wander on the wand'ring air ; 
I wish that music was not there. 
For nothing seems to me so sweet. 
Like that from angel's harpstring flung, 
Some one singing in an unknown tongue ! 

I close my eye, and feel her finger 
Upon the sweetest cord now linger. 
Touching with hopeful brilliancy 
The anthem of the brave and free ! 
Her strain is deepening from afar; 
Perhaps she may revert to war. 



ODE TO AN UNKNOWN TONGUE. 2/5 

And sing the notes of flame and fire, — 

Of which my heart would never tire, 

Were there not softer notes of love, • 

That I would rather have me move ! 

She sings of war ! behold the cord ! 

It is unto her mighty lord 

She strikes the key, and high the praise 

Of battles gained begins to raise ! 

She strikes the cord, and holy sound, 

Like bugle-blast, leaps o'er the ground, 

To quaver in the distant wild. 

Waving the leaflets, once so mild ! 

I count the years that now are past, 
And think of every battle-blast 
That waked humanity to war, 
In our own land, and worlds afar; 
And sometimes, when I think of this, 
I cannot help but count the bliss 
Of nations being swept from earth. 
And giving other nations birth : 
And in this dream I can but hear 
Songs that were sung to lift and cheer 
The hearts that gave the giant stroke 
To nations, that beneath them broke ! 

I count the years long swept away, ^ 

And noble men, both young and gray, 
Who built them up a monument, 
Ere they were from their glory sent: 



2/6 ODE TO AN UNKNOWN TONGUE. 

And when I read their history, 
Upon their brightest page I see, 
It tells me of some music's sound, 
That raised their soul above the ground : 
It tells me of their manly strength. 
Cheered by the muse's voice at length : 
It tells me of their glory, too, 
After they bade the world adieu ! 

Aloud she sings ! to war she tones ! 

She sings and weeps, and sings and moans, 

Such murmurs that I could not bear. 

Were it not from a form so fair ! 

I wish that she would try to move 

Me with those sweeter strains of love : 

But then her blast is growing wild ! 

It cannot stay with blood defiled ; 

But beautiful its tone is sent 

High o'er that beaten battlement! 

To war ! to war ! for liberty ! 

Go forward with your yeomanry, 

And stake the cannon by yon glen. 

And battle with earth's fiercest men ! 

Of war she sings, and such the strain 

That sweeps across the meadow main ! 

But peace shall follow on behind ; 

With hands the wounds she '11 seek to bind ! 



ODE TO AN UNKNOWN TONGUE. 2'J'J 

And where the bloody stream shall flow, 
And mingle with the waves that go 
From yonder spring, so calm and clear, 
Her voice of love you '11 gently hear ! 

Grave in that dell her soldiers lie, 
'Neath the balmy but sultry sky. 
Where headlong rolls the ridged hill, 
Wherefrom the liquid waters spill — 
Fall dashing o'er the rocks below, 
And then in silence sweetly go 
•Murmuring their guttural sounds of peace: 
Nor yet that other muse shall cease ! 

Grave by that rocky waste, bestrown 
By many a boulder mossy-grown, 
The soldiers of her song shall sleep, 
Where aged ash-trees bend and weep ! 

Grave by yon river's shifting sand, 
The shiftless form has lost his band. 
To bleach within the sun alone, 
Without a tomb, without a stone 
To mark the place where he did lie. 
By heedless waters, that pass by, 
Weeping their dew upon the weed 
That bends above the ones who bleed 
For that sweet songster, who shall cease 
To sing of war in time of peace ! 
24 



278 ODE TO AN UNKNOWN TONGUE. 

Along the creek the dappled drove 
Of lowing kine begin to rove : 
They rush into the murky mire, 
With maddened eyes of rolling fire! 
While o'er them high the robin sings 
And flaps his restless, drooping wings. 
Droning departing day away ; 
But heedeth not that heavenly lay ! 

Beneath that high bank, overhung 
By vines, which long ago have clung, 
The huntsman rests his heavy gun ; 
He glads the day is almost done ; 
And while he sits on rocks alone, 
He hears this heavenly muse's moan, 
And thinks its music sweet advice, 
Coming from far-off Paradise ! 

He has a bouquet in his hands, 

He gathered from the holy lands ; — 

He has a sister, loved and fair, 

He wishes could be with him there ! 

He has a mother, lean and old. 

But then her heart, it is not cold; 

For how she loves that manly lad ! 

It is enough to drive her mad ! 

And when she hears this angel voice, 

She thinks it be her lovely boy's. 

Ringing within the wilderness. 

To soothe the mother's vain distress ; 



ODE TO AN UNKNOWN TONGUE. 279 

And when the day is faded and gone, 
He, with his hounds, along the lawn 
Goes prancing to his mother's door, 
Who kisses him, as oft before 
She kissed his father's lip in youth, 
And thought he was a man in truth ! 

Thy lip was kissed, thy hand was pressed, 
Thy glowing cheek, like those, caressed. 
While whispers sweet were in thine ear, — 
Such whispers as all loved ones hear ! 
But then such music has not drowned 
That other music, from that ground 
Hallowed and mystic to the mind. 
And beautiful to all mankind; 
Because it seems an angel's voice, 
That bids our sterner hearts rejoice ! 

And when the hour for secrets came, 
And each to each, through kindled flame. 
Began to gaze within the face. 
Troubled at soul, with long embrace, 
Perhaps they hear such music then 
As comes from that sequestered glen ! 

And when the cock's shrill clarionet. 
After the blazing moon has set, 
Begins to call unto the morn. 
Is there a lover then forlorn ? 



280 THE LAND OF LOVES. 

It is the time of parting, too, — 
The time when Cupid's vows renew 
Their impress on the conquered soul, 
Whose love it scarce can now control ! 

It is the time the old man lies 

In dreams of peace, of Paradise ; 

Or troubled with a ghastly dream, 

Rolling within the last starbeam, 

That sings, from out the heavens on high, 

To him a troubled melody ! 

For days of toil have brought him pain, 

Who ne'er will happy be again ! 



THE LAND OF LOVES. 

IN a celestial region reigns 
An atmosphere so sweet and balm, 
The soul would deem it heaven's domains. 
So beautifully bright and calm, — 
It is the region of the palm. 

The feathery pine, and tropic fruit, 
And sylvan shades of endless bloom. 
With roses of the sweetest 'fume ! 
Here, in the greatest living strains, 
. The melodies of bird and lute 
Strike mingling on the gentle breeze. 
That whispers love among the trees ! 



THE LAND OF LOVES. 28 1 

The tenements in this fair land 

Enthroned Hke principalities ; 
With gorgeous domes emblazed they stand, 

And glow like stars upon the seas ! 
Riches and splendor make their home 
Around this mighty, massive dome ! 

And lawns of beauty, marble-paved, 
And statuettes on monuments 

Of martyrs long ago, who waved 
These banners to the heedless world, 
Who scorned that such was e'er unfurled ! 

These are all beauties mingling here, — 

The fairest forms, the brightest eyes. 
The silken lids, that know no tear; 

The heavenly angels of the skies! 
With cheeks all roseate with love, 

And lips like ruby, teeth of pearl, — 
All images of lands above. 

Whose snowy bosoms here unfurl 
Affection's vows for but a night, 
That we might taste such deep delight ! 

'Neath blooming trees these loves be found, 
Lying upon the mossy ground; 
Upon the bank of rivulet, 

Wliere mossy sward looks in the sun 
Most beautiful, just ere it set. 

And ere the moonlight has begun ; 
24* 



282 THE L A ND OF LO FES. 

Or by a lake of placid sweets, 

Where glides the graceful, sjiowy swan ; 
And where the silvery ripple meets 

The gentle, undulating lawn ! 
The diamond sands upon the strand 
Glow like young stars in fairy land ! 
There comes the brunette down to lave 
Her coal-black locks within the wave ; 
The blonde, with lilies in her hair. 
Sports in the wave, with bosom bare ! 
And peeping from the stilly deep, 
Her snowy arms appear to creep ^ 
And from the boughs of leaning trees, 
The falling bloom within the breeze, 
Mingle their perfume in her tresses, — ' 
The only flower in which she dresses ! 

Beneath a booth of roses sweet 

Some hazel eyes may gently shine ! 
Some princely lovers take their seat, 
And kiss the lips of sweets divine ! 
A land where each shall princess be, 
And each a prince of majesty ! 
The crown shall rest on every head, 
With perfume scented be each bed, 
Decked with new loves alternately ! 
New beauties at each eve we see, 
Clinging their arms around our forms, 
With holy love and ceaseless charms ! 



THE LA AW OF LOVES. 283 

With music streaming from the hall — 
Such dulcet strains that strike the heart 

Within this gilded mansion wall, 

Oh ! who could tear such loves apart? 

On beds of down and ermine fold, 

Asleep in arms that gently hold 

The soul entranced in ecstasy ; 

On earth — how can such pleasures be ? 

The bowers of roses and the field 

Of fruits, — a perfect park of bliss, — 
Blest in all seasons do they yield 

The luscious grape ripe as the kiss. 
The damsel on such sweets bestow. 
Melting with sweetness like the snow. 
Melts in a raylet of the sun — 

It melts between her teeth of marble, 
Kissed by the ruby lips, begun 

To tell us sweets and gayly warble. 

Beneath the foliage of trees. 

To listen to the hum of bees. 

And the bright birds of various plume. 

To cull the flowers as they bloom ; — 

Some budding into womanhood — 

Like angels, young, and sweet, and good — 

To catch love's accent earliest, 

If thou wouldst deem it then more blest — ■ 



284 THE LAND OF LOVES. 

The little pouting lip of love, 
The graceful arms, that cling and move 
Us with a sacred passion sweet, 
" Of ecstasy, when lips do meet. 

The heaving breast, the swelling sigh, 
The lustre of the laughing eye. 
The snowy neck, the moulded arm, 
Sweet whispering — Oh, heavenly charm! 
Within the ancient tapestried halls 
Of silken seats and pictured walls, 
And mirrors massive, framed in gold, 
Where beauty comes bright, to unfold 
Her shining tresses to the light — 

Within the parlors great and grand. 
We sit and sing away the night, 

The happiest loves — a saintly band. 

Each Princess, with her sunny face — 
Each Prince, of beauteous form and grace, 
Are happiest of all the world ; 
For here the state of wealth unfurled, 
Owns all the glory of the realm : 

And ere the evening sun is set 
Beneath the oak or bended elm. 

Each beauty makes her coronet 
Of roses sweet we love to breathe : — 
She makes herself a Prince's wreath. 



THE LAND OF LOVES. 285 

Her lovers are like legion here, 
Each one a king, each one a peer ; 
And graceful as the gentle dove, 
And beautiful in mind of love, 
With cheeks of crimson, cherry lips, 
And pearly teeth, that show the tips 
Like snow-flakes twinkling in the sky, 
And beautiful the flashing eye ; — 
With music in each tender word, 
Such sweets as mortal seldom heard, 
The lips with pathos burn, when press'd 
Upon a loved one's snowy breast ; 
And these with glorious looks respond 
The brunette and the happy blond 
And press against the marble brow 
Their bosoms young, like heaps of snow. 

Here be the brilliant equipage. 
And spotted steeds caparisoned 

With feathery tufts, whose glaze engjfge 
The soft sunlight, which seems to blend 

Together all the rarest tinges 

To decorate these gaudy fringes. 

The chariot leading with the band, 
Of music from the fairest hand, 
And sweetest lips that kiss the horn, 
Awakening up the gentle morn ! 



THE LAND OF LOVES. 

Along the level pathway laid, 
Beneath a grove of maple shade, 
The prancing steed steps to the tread, 
With proudest neck and carried head. 

Up by the mansion on the mount, 
Behold the spraying of the fount — 
Behold the fair ones come to sip 
The purest draught with sweetest lip ; 
And down where the catalpa blooms 
We drive, and taste the sweetest 'fumes 
Of all the earth, that wanders there 
To taint tlie balmy evening air. 

Then, where the cool sequestered breeze 
Is sporting with the tail pine-trees, 
Or through the cedars by the lake. 
Our course with laughing maidens take. 
We drive along the airy shore, 
We listen to the billows roar, 
And then we sing our evening psalm, 
And feel the soft air, sweet and palm, 
Come from the purple meadow-rose. 
Where Cupid with young maids repose. 

At noon, with epulations spread. 
We banquet in the coolest shade ; 
With luscious fruits our lives are fed 
From golden vases richly made; 



THE LAND OF LOVES. 287 

And silver goblets fill'd with wine 
From strongest trees and thriftiest vine, 
Surrounded by the ones we love, 
Who seem like angels from above, 
So very chaste and beautiful, . 
With happiness too great to tell. 

With luscious fruit from various trees. 
And honeys from the tropic bees, 
And halcyon hours to banquet in, 
Methinks such life we could begin. 

On sofas soft with 'lastic down, 

And cushioned seats of silken fold. 

In parlors grand, with loves renown, 
Methinks I never could grow old. 

With vocal strains of euphony 

Alighting on the breezy air. 
And tones from instruments that be 

Melting with rapture everywhere. 

With damsels blushing, sweet and pure. 
With radiant face and burning lip. 

Pressing their laurel kiss to lure 

Me with those sweets that gently drip 

From honeyed tongues and ruby gems. 

More valuable than diadems. 



288 THE LAND OF LOVES. 

And when in secret bliss we lie, 
In chambers scented with perfume, 

With some bright image from the sky, 
Most happy rose of early bloom. 

*T is then, in snowy folds, the arms 

Encircle us with countless charms. 



And from her lattice a starbeam 
Among her tresses glows like gold, 

'Twill come to us like a sweet dream, 
And show to heaven what form we hold, 

Pressing with kisses in the night, 

In ecstasy and deep delight. 

With these supernal souls from earth 
We wing, all heedless of the hour, 

Bearing along on wings o mirth 

In rapturing sweets this clinging flower - 

With long embrace embosoming 

Delights extreme on golden wing. 

Sweet words, from ruby lips, of love, 
And feverish cheeks against our breast, 

And radiant eyes, meek as the dove. 
And heaving bosom sweetly blest, 

And neck as white as swan can be, — 

On robes of ermine let us be. 



THE LAND OF LOVES. 289 

And 'round us tapestry, like snow, 
In silken folds the curtains cling, 

Airy and light, through which the glow 
Of moon and star appear to sing 

In weird witchery half the night, 

Till sleep has put our joys to flight. 



The Princess of this sweet repose, 
Swung round by gaudy drapery, 
Is, as an ever-living rose, 

Most beautiful in form to see, 
Full of sweet smiles and whisperings 
Of tales most dear. How close she clings. 
Even in her dreams of rosy lands. 
We wake — behold her clinging hands 
Around our necks in loveliest bliss. 
Bestowing an undying kiss. 
And we unlink these limbs of snow. 

In morning sunlight growing warm. 
Upon her breasts a kiss bestow — 
Oh, heaven ! what a voluptuous form. 



The following nights consecutive 
With other beauties fair as she. 

Whose sweets in memory shall live 
So bright in wondrous mystery. 
25 T 



290 Z UL U. 

Such be the land of Loves to those 
Who deem the world a garden waste, 

Where they may taste each blooming rose 
That buds for lovely lips to taste. 

Such the entrancing life of joy, 

Within this realm of love and gold — ■ 

All pleasures are without alloy, 
And beauties never can grow old. 



LULU. 

SHE had soft, sparkling, hazel eyes, a gentle 
ruby mouth, 
And the handsomest cherry lips of all that sunny 

south ; 
And down her waist, in flooding folds, her waving 

chestnut hair 
Played with her gentle peeping arms, so beautiful 

and bare. 
Young Lulu, far the sweetest child that ever 

breathed a word, 
And such a voice of melody I think I seldom 

heard. 
She was a little mountain girl, and lived among 

the pine, 
High up the winding path, she said, above the 

busy mine. 



LULU. 291 

I asked the little maiden sweet if I could follow 
too, 

And see her little cottage home above the busy few ; 

And then she smiled and took my hand, and fol- 
lowed up the way, 

And all the time her crimson lips were babbling 
merrily. 



I asked her of her mother, then — who might the 

proud queen be. 
Who dared to have a lawful claim on such a sweet 

as she? 
And laughing in a honey flower, she said she 

dared not tell. 
And I tried to kiss the little thing, and say 'twas 

just as well. 
But she hid her face, and then she said, so quaintly 

innocent. 
With a nonchalance in her air, I guessed at what 

it meant : 
" These honeysuckles I will give, if you will. 

kindly be, 
And listen to the truthful tale my madam gave to 

me : — 
A lady, who is sleeping now within the grave they 

made 
In yonder valley that you see, beneath a cedar 

shade." 



292 LULU. 

She led me to a little mound and bade me take a 

rest — 
I spread my gray old overcoat down for my fairy 

guest. 
"'Twas many a weary day ago," the little fairy 

said, 
" Since madam left me all alone, to go unto the 

dead. 
I think she must have been, at best, a lady bad in- 
deed — 
I ought not speak so harsh of her, but then I feel 

I need 
To tell a secret to a friend, if you are friend to me." 
And she looked me in the eye again, I thought 

beseechingly : 
I said, Go on, my little lass, trust me to be a friend, 
But still she was not satisfied until I gave my hand. 

The music of her voice, I think, comes back in 

strains to me 
Of all the murmurs of the rills, and bird and 

honey-bee, 
Her voice the sweetest, purest chimes, like melody 

in dreams, 
And then her eyes, so quaint and bright, like 

gems in sunny streams. 
Full of that sympathetic blaze, that lives e'en after 

death. 
Appears to rob us of the form, and takes away the 

breath. 



LULU. 293 

Her rosy cheek, vermilion hue, to tender blushes 
driven ; 

Her noble forehead, clear and pale, symbolic life 
of heaven. 

My hand upon her chestnut locks appears to 
wander still, 

Though many an hour ago it 's been since sitting 
on that hill, 

And recollection brings me back to hear her say 
again, 

" Oh! listen and be true to me, thou foreign gentle- 
man. 

"Twas on an autumn even, when the yellow 

leaves appeared 
To drop around my humble home — tho' humble 

'twas endeared — 
With rosy bushes here and there, transplanted 

from the wood, 
The aged dame sat down to rest, and seemed in 

happy mood. 
She said, My daughter come to me. and I will tell 

a tale — 
My days are growing less, I see, my form is grow- 
ing frail ; 
And like a young, confiding thing, I went unto 

her arms, 
Where I had learned in youthful days to offer up 

my charms. 
25* 



204 LULU. 

In fact, the dame had grown to be a mother in 
these years, 

And nothing taught me to despise that being till, 
in tears, 

I heard the last words of a tale I scarcely could 
think true — 

I fear I must have shrunk from her when every- 
thing I knew. 

But who could help it, when she said : Thy mother 
she was fair — 

Gold necklaces, gold on her wrists, and diamonds 
in her hair; 

And in a mighty mansion tall, she reigned a 
saintly queen. 

And all the people bowed to her, her life was so 
serene ; 

And plenty was at her command of silver and of 
gold — 

Quaint new devices, goblets bright, and keepsakes 
rich and old. 

And silks and satins, laces rare, and all that wealth 
could give — 

Such heavenly store was at her hand, 't was happi- 
ness to live. 

" My father was a princely form — I have his image 

here — 
And then the dame gave this to me — I took it 

with a tear. 



LULU. 295 

It is my father, young and prime, now take it and 
behold." 

A shudder crept across my frame, he was my 
friend of old — 

There were the lines upon his brow, the shining 
eyes of yore. 

And on his lip the very curve the little daughter's 
bore. 

I smothered down a rising sigh, and begged the 
little maid, 

To end the tale so novel-like and growing strange- 
ly laid. 

The little locket I replaced back in her lovely 

hand, 
And told her that he must have lived in some 

more civil land ; 
And then she said, with bitter sigh, " I never 

learned his name. 
For I was very young, you see, when died this 

wicked dame. 
And ever since she gave it me, I 've cherished it 

with pride. 
And love to dream about a home of which I was 

denied ; 
But I will tell you of the dame," the little maiden 

said, 
And then she archly cast a glance and turned 

her lovely head. 



296 LULU. 

" Thy mother's home was like a bower, and full 

of sweet perfume, 
And everything was brought to bear to chase the 

slightest gloom ; 
In tapestried halls, of pictures gilt, the gayest 

beauty met, 
And in the yard they 'd promenade just when the 

sun was set. 
She was a bride most beautiful, and thou wert not 

yet born — 
But many years before this time her mother 

caused me mourn ; 
For I had loved and won a heart she stole away 

from me, 
And fiU'd a life once happiness full of deep misery. 
I wedded one who was untrue, my poverty begun, 
And then to me a daughter came and she a 

daughter one, 
And you and her within a day were born unto the 

world. 
And both were blue-eyed little girls, and both had 

hair that curled ; 
I was your mother's nurse, and then I wreaked 

my vengeance out, 
For she was deathly ill you know, and could not 

get about." 

And little Lulu sadly wept, as if her heart would 

break ; 
I knew it was a maddened freak — a very sad mistake, 



LULU. 297 

And saw the living bitterness, that dwells in con- 
quered breasts, 
Which to an evil deed like this too often it behests. 
E'en after many years are past, 't is burning there 

the same — 
Methinks it burns by age and thought with a still 

deadlier aim. 
And children's children pay the debt sometimes a 

parent breeds, 
And, like young Lulu, torn away, to sing in woods 

and weeds. 
Must sigh and weep at length, for pleasures long 

ago possess'd. 
And cool a hidden curse that on some other 

bosom press'd ! 

"And then," said gentle Lulu, brushing back her 

curls once more, 
"Though I was born unto this mansion of a 

kingly store. 
The cruel, wicked dame, within a midnight hour, 

she said, 
Stole me away and lay another in my mother's 

bed. 
And when she told me this, I spurned her from 

my very side. 
And, leaning back against a tree, the cruel madam 

died ! " 



298 LULU. 

Thus said the little maiden, and hid her face and 

cried aloud — 
I deemed she was an angel, in some strange and 

worldly shroud, 
Who came from out a fairy land unto this secret 

place, 
Who had a vision of her home, but where she 

could not trace. 
But to my mind the thing was plain. I knew my 

friend of yore. 
He often spoke to me and talked his curious 

trouble o'er. 
And told me how his wife refused, within her 

dying hour. 
To own the babe presented her by this deceitful 

power. 
But then I kept the secret hid from Lulu's sad- 
dened soul, 
For like a dream it seemed to me, I feared to tell 

the whole. 
And Lulu took me by the hand, and led me up 

the hill, 
And pointed to a cabin built beside a little rill ; 
It was her home, and good and kind the friends 

appeared to be : 
We parted pledged to meet again, which prom- 
ises to me 



^ LULU. 299 

Were very dear and welcomed then, for I can 

hardly tell 
How very sad the darling looked when bidding 

me farewell. 

My friend of yore had lost his wealth and came 

unto the mines, 
And built a little hamlet here, and hung it o'er 

with vines ; 
And in this lonely hermitage he 'd think of former 

days, 
Compare them with his simple lot down in these 

mountain rays. 
The child of bitterness was dead, and dead his 

loving wife, 
And not a soul was left to him to cheer his lonely 

life. 
I thought to tell him of the maid upon the moun- 
tain side — 
I thought she 'd fill the vacant place of former 

loves that died. 

'T was evening, and the sun was low behind the 

cedar hill. 
And gurgling fresh in promises roll'd many a little 

rill. 
And by the moon I thought to stray down to my 

friend of yore, 
And with ^ my cane of thorny wood I knocked 

upon the door. 



300 LULU. 

And there he stood despondently, with poverty 

ashamed — 
He held a dove within his hand that he had caught 

and tamed ; 
The last of loves " I 've left me yet," and then he 

shed a tear, 
And then I asked him speak to me again of former 

years. 
The story was the bitter one he often told before, 
But then it was so quaint to me, I let him tell it o'er. 

" I had a home of roses sweet, a mansion fair and 

tall, 
And many a little vine like this was trellis'd on 

the wall ; 
My steed was of the fleetest make, and gilt my 

carriages. 
And not a soul would ride with me but what would 

sound their praise. 
I had a wife as blooming, too, as any tendered rose. 
But then her spirit, days ago, has sought a sweet 

repose ; 
Perhaps 't is well — I want no loves now in my 

poverty, 
For all my mighty wealth, you know, is scatter'd 

to the sea." 



THE END. 
























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